A Plane Ride Today Needs to Be Worth It

Next Prize: Aruba The best response we receive between Jan. 31, 2009, and Feb. 28, 2009, wins a trip to Aruba, courtesy of the Aruba Tourism Authority. It includes air from New York, five nights at the Amsterdam Manor Beach Resort Aruba, transfers and a snorkeling trip by De Palm Tours, and a tour by Aruba Off-Road. For more info on the Aruba Tourism Authority: 800/862-7822, aruba.com. How to enter: E-mail us at TrueStories@BudgetTravel.com or mail us at True Stories, Budget Travel, 530 Seventh Ave., New York, NY 10018. For a complete rundown of the contest guidelines, please see BudgetTravel.com/truestories. Cruise Winner February's winner is Lorena Aguilar of Woodbridge, Va. Her prize is a 14-day South American cruise, courtesy of eCruises.com. My husband and I went to Caiazzo, Italy, to see my relatives. They don't speak English and my husband doesn't speak Italian, so I was the translator. On our first night at my cousin's house, she handed me two towels and a small box labeled INTIMO. My husband assumed it was for "intimate" purposes for the two of us and tried to rush me off to the bedroom, yelling, "Grazie! Grazie!" That's when I realized he was excited about a box of soap for the bidet. As I explained things to my relatives, they laughed hard, and for days the men in the family kept nudging my husband and giving him the thumbs-up. How to create a vegetarian Last summer, our family spent a night in Amarillo, Tex., and ate at the Big Texan Steak Ranch. Our appetizer platter had mountain oysters, which we enjoyed thoroughly. My wife and I and our daughter assumed they were breaded seafood. Three weeks later we heard the name again—and learned that mountain oysters are actually fried bull testicles! Someday this photo will be great blackmail material. Alan Freed, Ambridge, Pa. Isn't it illegal for 11 people to go on a honeymoon? When my husband and I were engaged, his parents said they would give us a honeymoon to remember. We instantly had visions of Hawaii or Mexico. Not quite. They told us we were heading to Disney World in Florida, then added that they'd always wanted to go themselves and were coming along. "That's great!" I told them—what else could I say? In the end, my mother-in-law invited two friends, the friends' three kids, and my sister-in-law and her husband. I can't say a lot of honeymooning went on, but my in-laws did give us a trip we'll never forget. Cristina Beitz, El Cajon, Calif. It really looked like a rifle? My husband and I went to a rental-car counter at the airport in Cancún. Before we signed the contract, I noticed that if we returned the car with even minor damage we would be charged $1,000. We decided not to get the car, but the agent wouldn't give us the contract, which had our credit card number on it. The conversation got very heated, and the agent mentioned calling the police. I thought that was a good idea and went looking for an officer. I saw a man in uniform holding a rifle and explained the situation to him in Spanish. But slowly I realized that his uniform wasn't quite right and his rifle was...a broom. I was speaking to the janitor! I felt ridiculous. Luckily, my husband had managed to snatch the contract. Bonnie Worthen, Pendleton, S.C. Fuel up at the grass station In Rotterdam, a friend and I parked our car and wandered around the city. Later we realized we had forgotten the location of our garage. We found our starting point, which was the site of an outdoor environmental exposition, and asked a few people where the nearest garage was. Finally one guy said, "You mean the car park? I'll take you." We were relieved—until he walked us to an artwork in the exposition. Next time, we'll mark our map. Jill Mazur, Los Angeles, Calif. Then the fog rolled back in After months of planning a trip to Machu Picchu, I arrived at the magnificent site. The weather was not cooperating, and most of the area was under heavy fog. Finally, the cloud cover lifted, and I hurried to pose for a photo so I could prove I had been there. But a llama decided he wanted to get in the picture too! Jodi Resch Brownell, Crandon, Wis. Ever heard of Tide to Go? My wife and I visited her brother in Mozambique. The first night, I was feeling crummy and lay down, but everyone else had a huge pasta dinner. The next day, we went to meet members of my brother-in-law's church. My wife had forgotten to pack a dress, but after searching for an appropriate outfit, she appeared in a white linen shirt and a yellow wraparound skirt with a brown and red design. As we toured the town, what seemed like every dog within 50 miles came and followed my wife closely. Finally we got away from them and returned to my brother-in-law's place to change and eat lunch. Before we sat down, my wife brought out her skirt and spread it across the table. Turns out the dogs had not missed the previous night's spaghetti sauce splatters, which looked like part of the pattern of the tablecloth. Erik Asbjorn, Bayville, N.J. We wanted a picture from the day before Last year, my wife and I were at the beach on Hilton Head Island, S.C., when I noticed a teenager staring at a spot behind me. I turned to see my wife in her chair, topless. Her bikini top had come untied and she hadn't noticed. Oops! As a joke, a friend gave her some caution tape to fix her suit. My wife wore the tape the next day to ensure that she didn't lose her top again. Patrick McCue, Naperville, Ill. But the beer is getting warm! My husband and I were certain that we had everything our 6-month-old son, Owen, could possibly need on a camping trip to Norway and Sweden. We had packed his baby travel gear, toys, and warm clothing. After a few days, however, we realized something was missing—his bathtub! My husband came up with the perfect solution: We emptied our cooler and filled it with warm soapy bubbles. Owen had way more fun than in his boring bathtub at home. Ann Kobiela Ketz, Landstuhl, Germany The revenge of the W.C. At a train station in Europe, several people in my group needed to use the restroom. So we wouldn't all have to pay the fee, I suggested we hold the door and just follow one another in. After the first person exited, it was my turn. As soon as I closed the door, jets of water and disinfectant shot from the wall until I was ankle deep. The water drained immediately, and I went to sit on the toilet, but it rotated into the wall and I almost landed on the wet floor. A newly cleaned toilet swung out from another wall. Finally, I was able to do what I was there for. As I rose and started to fix my clothes, the door opened, and my group, along with several locals, got quite an eyeful. Lesson: A few cents is not too much to pay to use a clean restroom! Sue Hess, Casselberry, Fla. We know how those Italian men are...about cars On a trip to Italy last year, my cousin and I borrowed a friend's car to go shopping. On the way back to the car, we were approached by three men who tried to talk to us. Since we didn't understand Italian, we said, "No, grazie," and started driving. They followed us in their car and kept gesturing for us to stop. Then they took their money out and asked, "How much?" in English. Of course we were offended and upset. Our friend called us at that point, and when we told him what was going on, he just laughed. He had put a for sale sign with his phone number in the rear window, and the men had called to say they were interested. Boy, were we embarrassed. The men did buy the car—they said that seeing how it handled while we were maneuvering to get away was what sold them. Tamara Abramyan, Burbank, Calif. Just call him Cheeky George My kids and I were on a cruise and went to Gumbalimba Park on Roatán Island, Honduras. We were excited to see the capuchin monkeys even though a coworker who had recently been to Honduras told me she'd had only limited interaction with them. Almost as soon as we got to the park, a monkey jumped on my shoulder and grabbed my nose. He then began to climb down my chest—and the next thing I knew he had stuck his head down my shirt. Everyone was laughing and taking pictures. That was a bit more interaction than I'd expected! Ana Rand, Bronx, N.Y. And your friends left you there to take the picture? In 2004, two friends and I spent a day on a dairy farm near Ennis, Ireland, visiting a farmer my friends had met on a previous trip. We walked for hours across his land, avoiding mud and cow patties as we went. Near the barn, we kept to the edge of the path to avoid the muck, but I lost my footing. Imagine my shock and horror when I sank to my thighs and realized that it wasn't mud! I turned to a friend to help me out of the manure, but she said, "I'm not touching you." After I was free, we asked the farmer if he would tell his friends about the crazy Americans. He said no, because they wouldn't believe it—"Even the cows know better!" Gail M. Davis, Virginia Beach, Va. Prize Report Roger and Claudia Hirsch of Dundee, Ore., won a four-night trip to the Holiday Inn SunSpree Resort in Jamaica for their story about a car repair in Belgium. "It was not hard to get relaxed," says Claudia. "We loved the beach and the warm Caribbean water. And we had a room with a balcony and an ocean view. Thank you, SunSpree, Air Jamaica, and Jamaica Tourist Board!"

DAY 1 The former mining towns in California's Gold Country fall into two distinct categories: the half-forgotten hamlets with little remaining evidence of their past, and the places that have been gentrified to look like Hollywood backlots. In early spring, as my friend Kim and I set off from San Francisco to explore the region, our first stop is a spot decidedly in the latter camp. Grass Valley has a very old-timey-looking downtown, but behind the reconstructed wooden façades are pricey boutiques and Pilates studios. Not that I'm complaining. Kim and I are both city girls, from the Bay Area and Brooklyn, respectively. Had we dived right into a ghost town, we might have turned back. Grass Valley became a boomtown after gold was discovered in the nearby hills 150 years ago, attracting a mob of hopeful miners from Cornwall, England (there are still Cornish parties every Christmas). Now the land is covered with grapevines—wine is the new moneymaker in these parts. Craving a bit of historical authenticity with our lunch, Kim and I wander into theHolbrooke Hotel, a Victorian inn—President Ulysses S. Grant once slept here—that has the oldest continuously operating saloon west of the Mississippi. The menu at the Restaurant at the Holbrooke, however, is contemporary Californian. "Do you think Cobb salads were popular with the Cornish miners?" I joke to Kim. I hate doing touristy things, so I planned to bypass the nearbyEmpire Mine State Historic Park, but Kim really wants to go. And, of course, it turns out to be one of our most memorable stops. Between 1850 and 1956, when the mine closed, 5.8 million ounces of gold were extracted from tunnels thousands of feet underground. I feel claustrophobic just peering into the shaft where the men were lowered into the earth, so Kim leads me out to the park, now a popular place for weddings. We both find it ironic that people get married on the very spot where miners died, which leads to a lengthy discussion about blood diamonds in Africa. This is the kind of thing we talk about on vacation—when we're not shopping or eating. Lake Tahoe is about 70 miles to the east. I booked us a hotel in advance, expecting the area to be packed at the tail end of the ski season. But when we arrive, the strip of motels alongside the water is alive with neon vacancy signs. Our place, theMourelatos Lakeshore Resort, is owned by a friendly Greek family; however, I feel a bit of renter's remorse when I see the satin bedspreads, gold-trimmed pillows, and thick wall-to-wall carpeting. Falling asleep in our gilded confines that night, I dream of Greek gods and sooty-faced miners. LODGING Mourelatos Lakeshore Resort 6834 N. Lake Blvd., Tahoe Vista, 800/824-6381, mlrtahoe.com, from $130 FOOD Restaurant at the Holbrooke 212 W. Main St., Grass Valley, 530/273-1353, holbrooke.com, Cobb salad $9 ACTIVITIES Empire Mine State Historic Park 10791 E. Empire St., Grass Valley, 530/273-8522, empiremine.org, $3 DAY 2 Across the border in Nevada, Kim and I decide to do some prospecting of our own at theTahoe Biltmore Lodge & Casino. Kim has never been to a casino and I'm hardly a card shark, so we luck out by sitting at an empty blackjack table opposite Victor, a softhearted dealer who explains the rules to us. (Note to the pit boss: I disguised Victor's identity so you can't fire him for taking pity on a couple of rubes.) Even with Victor's tutelage, we manage to lose $25 in no time—a sure sign that we'd better hit the road. We come back in California and drive toEmerald Bay, one of the most photographed sights in the Sierras. We hike down to the water's edge and find a spot where we can see Fannette Island in the middle of the bay. The sun is melting the last of the snow, and the air smells of pine. As beautiful as the scenery is, I can't wait to show Kim the less-traveled parts of the state to the south, where my family spent many vacations when I was young. Gold and silver deposits were discovered in this mountain nook in the late 1850s, luring miners to outposts like Bridgeport and Bodie. We hoped to visit the latter, now a ghost town, but the road is snowed in. So we arrive early at theRedwood Motel, recognizable by its bucking-bronco statue out front. With the manager's hand-drawn map, we head toTravertine Hot Springs, south of Bridgeport, and slowly lower ourselves into a pool set amid sagebrush and russet rocks. The only thing that could make it better is if the couple in the pool next to ours were to share their bottle of wine. That evening, gussied up for a night on the town, we stumble upon an impromptu block party. Three locals drinking in their truck try to enlist us in a practical joke that involves telling a bartender that I'm his friend's girlfriend from San Diego. Starving, we head to the restaurant at theBridgeport Inn, a gorgeous Gold Rush–era hotel where the menu veers from prime rib to shrimp tempura. I stick with the safe-bet spaghetti and meatballs, while Kim goes for the wild-card chicken satay, and we both feel lucky. After dinner, we decide to check outRhino's Bar & Grille, where I'm supposed to pretend to be somebody's visiting girlfriend. But as soon as we walk in, I realize that I'm not only wearing a red coat and a green cowboy hat, but also carrying a rose. I feel like a prom queen—and not in a good way. So we race back to our hotel and jump into bed for a movie night instead. LODGING Redwood Motel 425 Main St., Bridgeport, 760/932-7060, redwoodmotel.net, from $54 FOODBridgeport Inn  205 Main St., Bridgeport, 760/932-7380, thebridgeportinn.com, spaghetti $17 ACTIVITIES Tahoe Biltmore Lodge & Casino 5 State Hwy. 28, Crystal Bay, Nev., 775/831-0660, tahoebiltmore.com Emerald Bay State Park Hwy. 89, 530/541-3030, parks.ca.gov, $7 per car Travertine Hot Springs Jack Sawyer Rd., off Rte. 395, a half mile south of Bridgeport, free NIGHTLIFE  Rhino's Bar & Grille 226 Main St., Bridgeport, 760/932-7345 DAY 3 The only bummer about arriving at theWhoa Nellie Deliat 10 a.m. is that specials like the wild-buffalo meat loaf aren't being served yet. There is something called Big-Ass Cowboy Steak and Eggs, but I opt for a sesame bagel topped with a tower of smoked trout. Kim's scrambled eggs could feed a family of four; now we know how the place got its name. As we approach theSouth Tufagrove at Mono Lake, the limestone formations look like relics of an ancient civilization. In the 1940s, L.A.'s water authorities diverted the tributaries that fed the basin, halving its volume and exposing the rocky towers, or tufas, that had been submerged. Environmentalists successfully challenged the practice, and the water levels are rising again. Signposts on the trail to the tufas show the lake's depth over the years. It's hard to believe the parking lot—a half mile away—is where the shoreline once was. We would linger, but we have a date with a horse wrangler named Irene atRock Creek Pack Station, north of the nearby town of Bishop. Before the railroad arrived, outposts like this were where people went to send freight via pack animals to the coast. These days, the place gives visitors a taste of life on the range through activities such as six-day pack trips and cattle drives. Kim and I have opted for a slightly shorter endeavor: a four-hour horse ride in search of herds of wild mustangs. As we amble along, Irene expounds on everything from Indian trade routes to mustang ways (apparently, when a stud wants to show another who's boss, he pees on his rival's manure). Irene is a gossip, too—she says John Wayne wore a neckerchief to hide his wattle. After a while, we spot a mustang off in a field, likely a male that has been kicked out of his herd by a competitor. As the beast starts to move toward us, Irene explains that the poor sap—horny and lonely in horse exile—can smell Vera, the mare I'm riding. I edge Vera closer to entice our guy within photo range. He obliges, looking so forlorn I feel guilty for being a tease. Then Vera whinnies and strains against her halter, so we retreat. "If the stud had gotten any closer," Irene says on the way back, "I hope you girls would have known to drop the reins and run." Out of the saddle, Kim and I hobble to our car, looking forward to taking a soak when we get to theInn at Benton Hot Springs. Our room has brass beds, floral wallpaper, and vases fashioned out of boots. But the best part is the hot-spring-fed tubs in the garden. The water temperatures range from sizzling to lobster pot, exactly what two saddle-weary gals need. LODGING Inn at Benton Hot Springs 55137 Hwy. 120, Benton, 760/933-2287, historicbentonhotsprings.com, from $99 FOOD Whoa Nellie Deli 22 Vista Point Rd., Lee Vining, 760/647-1088, whoanelliedeli.com, bagel with trout $10 ACTIVITIES South Tufa Hwy. 120 E., 11 miles southeast of Lee Vining, monolake.org, $3 Rock Creek Pack Station 10 miles off Hwy. 395, north of Bishop, 760/935-4493, rockcreekpackstation.com, trail ride $70 DAY 4 Inspired by the scenery on our morning jaunt south through the Owens River valley—purple desert lupine and granite boulders set against snowcapped mountains—Kim announces she'd like to sing "America the Beautiful." It's early, but I join in, trying not to mangle the song. We follow that with "My Country, 'Tis of Thee" but stop short at "The Star-Spangled Banner" because neither one of us can reach the high notes. The Alabama Hills in the southwestern part of the valley have been the setting for more than 400 movies, includingGunga Din,How the West Was Won, and, most recently,Iron Man. At theMuseum of Lone Pine Film History, we watch a clip about the region's cinematic past and check out the vast collection of movie posters, plus costumes worn by Gene Autry and Dale Evans and the stunning 1937 Plymouth coupe that Humphrey Bogart drove inHigh Sierra. By the time we leave, I'm making a mental list of westerns I want to see and nursing a crush on Gary Cooper. With a few more minutes to spend in Lone Pine, Kim and I stroll down Main Street, past low-slung wooden and adobe storefronts. It doesn't feel very removed from the Gold Rush days. In fact, I can almost hear the sounds of wranglers galloping into town. And there's not a Pilates studio in sight. ACTIVITIES Beverly and Jim Rogers Museum of Lone Pine Film History 701 S. Main St., Lone Pine, 760/876-9909, lonepinefilmhistorymuseum.org, $5 FINDING THE WAY Flying into Reno is the quickest way to jump on Highway 395, the main route through the Sierras. San Francisco is also a fine starting point. Some mountain passes are closed through the late spring. Check dot.ca.gov for road conditions.

Allison Rupp worked at Yellowstone National Park's historic Old Faithful Inn in 2004. The best guests sleep in Three simple letters could inspire the "Hallelujah" chorus: DND, or do not disturb. One sign hanging on a doorknob, and the day's work was shortened by half an hour. Two signs? Pure heaven, but only if they remained there until my eight-hour shift ended—otherwise I'd have to circle back and clean the rooms. My daily list of 15 rooms (out of 325 in the hotel) consisted of DOs (due out) and Os (occupied), which in housekeeping lingo meant the guests were scheduled to check out or were staying another night. An occupied room was less labor-intensive (making the beds rather than changing the sheets saved me 20 minutes), but there was always the possibility the guest would stay in the room while you worked. One man watched me clean his entire room, from scrubbing the toilet to emptying the trash—and told me at the end that I was "building character." Condescension is not nearly as encouraging to a maid as a couple of dollars. As long as it looked clean I cut corners everywhere I could. Instead of vacuuming, I found that just picking up the larger crumbs from the carpet would do. Rather than scrub the tub with hot water, sometimes it was just a spray-and-wipe kind of day. After several weeks on the job, I discovered that the staff leader who inspected the rooms couldn't tell the difference between a clean sink and one that was simply dry, so I would often just run a rag over the wet spots. But I never skipped changing the sheets. I wouldn't sink that low, no matter how lazy I was feeling. A bacterial wonderland I was disgusted by the many guests I came in contact with through the things they left behind: the hairs on the pillow, the urine on the toilet seat, the half-eaten cookie, the stained sheets. One woman had soiled her sheets so thoroughly that we had to toss them in a biohazard bag—they could never be used again. Rooms where young kids stayed were the worst, with food ground into the carpet and piles of used diapers in the trash. That kind of demoralizing mess could take 45 minutes to clean up. Most maids wore rubber gloves when they worked, but mine were too big, so I discarded them. Unsurprisingly, I got the flu twice. Not for love—or money I didn't know maids received tips, so it took me weeks to realize that the coins left in rooms were an intentional gift. My tips were paltry: I almost never received more than $1, and at times guests left religious pamphlets. One day, however, I was shocked to find a crisp $100 bill lying on a table. Although the generous tip put a little spring in my step and compelled me to do a better job that day, it didn't change my work ethic for long. I apologize to you now if you ever stayed in one of my rooms. You deserved better. But if housekeepers were paid more than minimum wage—and the tips were a bit better—I might have cleaned your toilet rather than just flushed it.

BEACH AND FEAST St. Kitts Get there American Airlines has new nonstop service from Miami seven days a week. Reason to go now Few Caribbean islands are celebrated for their food, but tiny St. Kitts is one of the exceptions. An outpost of stately sugar plantations and white sands, the isle has landed on the culinary map thanks to the newly opened Beach House, a restaurant in a colonial mansion on Turtle Beach. Executive chef George Reid, a transplant from Anguilla's famed Cap Juluca resort, specializes in Caribbean fare that borrows inventively from French, Spanish, African, and Dutch cooking. After you've feasted on his cumin-crusted wild swordfish or lobster gumbo, head to the restaurant's outdoor pavilion to sample from the cigar and rum menu (869/469-5299, stkittsbeachhouse.com, entrées from $14). Later this month, the oceanfront Carambola Beach Club restaurant opens on South Friar's Bay. The place gets its name from the Averrhoa carambola, or star fruit, which is put to punchy use from the starters to the desserts. Nab one of the 12 beach cabanas—they have waiter service and prime sunset views (869/465-9090, carambolabeachclub.com). Beach locals love Schools of yellowtail snapper, balahoo, and angelfish surround the reef near Cockleshell Beach, a two-mile-long stretch on the southern coast that's often empty during the week. At the entrance, the new Reggae Beach Bar & Grill serves conch fritters and jumbo coconut shrimp (869/762-5050, reggaebeachbar.com, appetizers from $7). Place to stay St. Kitts has blessedly few hotels. A standout is the Ocean Terrace Inn, where each of the 71 rooms has a private balcony overlooking the Caribbean. The one-bedroom suites come with kitchenettes, but there's no need to do your own cooking. The hotel has a West Indian restaurant, a poolside bar and grill, and an oceanfront spot that specializes in lobster and mahimahi cooked over an open flame (800/524-0512, oceanterraceinn.com, from $195 in high season). —Amy Chen Have a ball Isabelle Carr has been concocting her JC's Tamarind Balls, a sweet-and-sour snack made from native tamarind fruit, for more than 20 years (City Drug Store, 869/465-2156, $1). ADVENTURES 'R' US Cayman Islands Get there Cayman Airways has new nonstop flights from Washington, D.C., operating Wednesdays and Saturdays, and just introduced nonstop flights from Chicago on Wednesdays and Sundays. Reason to go now The beyond-belief underwater world of the Caymans—made up of Grand Cayman, Cayman Brac, and Little Cayman—keeps expanding. Offshore from the recently opened Lighthouse Point, a condo resort in Grand Cayman's West Bay, divers can investigate a newly accessible 19th-century shipwreck (345/946-5658, lighthouse-point-cayman.com, daily tank rental $5). And come June, another vessel is joining the graveyard off Grand Cayman's Seven Mile Beach: Local authorities plan to sink the USS Kittiwake, a WWII American rescue ship, to create a 250-foot-long reef. Beach locals love With its unusually smooth waters, Barker's Beach, on the west side of Grand Cayman, is a favorite, especially among kiteboarders out to test tricks. Ready to join them? For advanced wave riders, Ocean Frontiers gives lessons at Barker's. Beginners can learn the sport (picture balancing on a surfboard as a kite whisks you across the waves) on the even calmer East End Sound. For gondolier wannabes, the company also offers stand-up paddleboarding clinics (800/348-6096, oceanfrontiers.com, lessons from $250). Place to stay The oceanfront Little Cayman Beach Resort has a collection of Hobie cats and kayaks—and a fresh new look. In December, all 40 rooms got a makeover: Out went the dated wicker furniture and grandmotherly wallpaper borders; in came maple furniture and granite countertops. Sign on with the dive shop for a scuba trip to the Bloody Bay Wall, breeding grounds of the rare longsnout seahorse (800/327-3835, littlecayman.com, from $175 in high season). —Alison Rohrs The Cayman safari Grand Cayman is the only place on the planet where the five-foot-long Blue Iguana exists. The Blue Iguana Recovery Program organizes daily outings to catch glimpses of the creature, including a behind-the-scenes tour of an egg-hatching center (345/947-6050, blueiguana.ky, $30). THE UNTAMED BEAUTY Martinique Get there American Eagle flights to Martinique from San Juan, P.R., now depart at 7:30 P.M. instead of 12:30 P.M., so you no longer have to catch an early plane from the U.S. to make your connection. Reason to go now It's called the Isle of Flowers for a reason: Between February and May, lotus, red ginger, and West Indian jasmine bloom across this overseas département of France. You can take in more than 200 species of flora at Le Jardin de Balata, a garden named for the balata gum trees that shade the grounds; it just reopened after months of post–Hurricane Dean replanting (011-596/596-64-48-73, jardindebalata.fr, $8). By March, the island emerges from the rainy season, making that an ideal time to go volcano trekking and bird-spotting on Mount Pelée. Outfitter Le Bureau de la Randonnée leads hikes to the crater, where the red-throated mountain whistler and blue-headed hummingbird nest. Rappelling into Mount Pelée's river gorges was recently banned, but the company can arrange canyoneering trips—you hike, climb, and rappel your way through a valley—in the Pitons du Carbet range (011-596/596-55-04-79, bureau-rando-martinique.com, tours from $43). Beach locals love While most tourists sink their toes into the white sands of the south, islanders head to the protected cove of Anse Couleuvre, a black-sand beach with the best snorkeling. Wear good walking shoes—you have to hike down a steep hill to get there. Luckily, the palm trees on the quarter-mile-long stretch provide enough shade that you won't need to lug an umbrella. Place to stay French-inspired hôtels de charme (cozy family-run establishments) have been sprouting up on Martinique in the past few years. One such spot is the nine-room Hôtel Villa Saint-Pierre on the northwest coast. Owners André Givogre and Maryse Imbert quit their jobs at a casino and a bank in France, respectively, to take over the art deco inn. Guests wake up to fresh-baked croissants topped with homemade mango jam (011-596/596-78-68-45, hotel-villastpierre.com, from $150 in high season). Another hideaway, the Hôtel Cap Macabou, is a five-minute walk from the powdery beach on the southeast shore that shares its name. Designed to resemble a plantation, the hotel has 44 rooms and two West Indian restaurants (011-596/596-74-24-24, capmacabou.com, from $190 in high season). —Amy Chen Stir crazy Island bartenders mix cocktails using swizzle sticks whittled from bois lélé tree twigs, which mysteriously smell like maple syrup. Although souvenir shops hawk plastic replicas, the craft market in Fort-de-France sells the real thing for about $2 each. CALLING ALL FAMILIES Turks & Caicos Get there Delta is now offering a second Saturday morning flight from Atlanta. US Airways has new weekend service from Boston and Charlotte, N.C., and new flights from Philadelphia on Saturdays and Sundays. Reason to go now This blue-green cluster of 40 isles and cays—only eight of which are inhabited—has come of age, thanks to a judicious balance of wide-open spaces and development (Providenciales and Grand Turk are where most of the action is). Après beach, hit Conch World, a just-opened theme park on Grand Turk, where the island's biggest export, the conch, takes center stage. Visitors meander from a model farm to a movie about you-guessed-it to a pond where kids can meet Sally and Jerry, two snails known to come out of their shells (649/946-1228, conchworld.com/go, from $7.50). After dark, don't miss the light show in the bays off Providenciales. It's courtesy of the glowworm, a firefly-like sea creature that flashes when the moon is full to attract mates. Three to five nights a month, Silver Deep leads boat excursions to the glowworms' hideaway (649/946-5612, silverdeep.com, from $47). Beach locals love Insiders and visitors both agree: Grace Bay on Providenciales is the loveliest. Although resorts line its shores, plenty of real estate is given over to Princess Alexandra National Park, a 6,532-acre protected area with underwater grasslands that harbor sea turtles. Be on the lookout for JoJo, the resident wild dolphin. Place to stay Spread out at Ocean Club West, a condo resort on Providenciales. Its rentals range from studios to three-bedroom units with screened-in balconies and kitchens. And just beyond your quarters, there are two freshwater pools, tennis courts, and a spa for mom (649/946-5880, oceanclubresorts.com, from $260 in high season). —Ellise Pierce We'll drink to that Stanford Handfield free dives for conch shells and then turns his finds into funky souvenirs, such as soda glasses. Look for his goods at TCI Shell Man on Grand Turk (649/241-6414, from $4). HONEYMOON FAVORITE St. Lucia Get there American Airlines has new nonstop weekday flights from JFK in New York. Air Canada has added four nonstop flights from Toronto, as well as new nonstop Monday service from Montreal. Reason to go now In the past few years, a handful of intimate villa resorts have opened on St. Lucia's secluded western coast. The latest to debut is Ti Kaye Village Resort, with 33 beach cottages and a cliffside spa that uses island ingredients and caters to couples. You don't have to be guests to book treatments—perhaps an ylang-ylang massage or a papaya scrub?—in bungalows with side-by-side massage tables and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean (758/456-8101, tikaye.com, treatments from $75, rooms from $280 in high season). Want to take in the island? The International Pony Club has a riding tour for two that progresses from the mountains to the fishing village of Gros Islet to a Danielle Steel–worthy gallop along Cas-en-Bas Beach (758/452-8139, internationalponyclub.net, from $65 per person). Beach locals love All of St. Lucia's sands are public, but there's one quiet spot residents try to keep secret: Smuggler's Cove, a half-mile stretch surrounded by black volcanic cliffs. Beauty aside, the beach is next door to the Cap Maison Resort & Spa; waiters from the bar take towel-side drink orders from anyone sunbathing in the vicinity. Place to stay St. Lucia is pricey, particularly in peak season. A great value is the Marina Outpost Villa, which opened last fall with four guesthouses on a peak above Rodney Bay. The red-and-yellow chalets have two-bedroom suites with four-poster beds, and balconies that face the sea. The resort's hibiscus and bougainvillea bushes attract purple-throated carib hummingbirds and yellow-breasted bananaquits—the inspiration for the villas' eye-opening palette (800/263-4202, oasismarigot.com, from $270 in high season). —Alison Rohrs Love potion The island has its own aphrodisiac, a juicy pear-like fruit known as the pomme d'amour, or love apple. Dasheene, an open-air restaurant in the hills of Soufrière, serves a delicious pomme d'amour daiquiri (866/290-0978, $8).