Ghosts of the Sierra Madre

Day 1: Savannah to Tybee Island My husband, Michael, and I land in Savannah around lunchtime. Georgia's First City, as Savannah declares itself, is architecturally awesome--and maddening for drivers. Tour buses slowly crawl around historic squares. Tourists cluster in the middle of the street to peer at the impeccably restored 18th- and 19th-century houses. We have to go through town to get to our evening's destination, Tybee Island, so our plan is to park, fortify with some food, and get on our way. Our first attempt at finding barbecue is unsuccessful. We make do with a black-eyed-pea sandwich at B. Matthews Bakery; it's a delicious approximation of a spicy falafel. I pocket a chocolate-chip cookie for the 18-mile drive to Tybee. Georgia's most developed island feels kind of like Atlantic City meets Coney Island--a little shabby, but that shabbiness often translates to a retro charm. The Basta family runs the Georgianne Inn, three houses in from the beach, and the adult son Nick is our enthusiastic host. We borrow two cruiser bikes, and Nick gives us 10 minutes of pointers. Tybee's tides are remarkably low, so from mid-afternoon until sunset there's at least 50 feet of packed sand to play on. The southern side of the beach, beyond a long pier, has high winds, which attract kitesurfers, kiteboarders, and old-fashioned kite fliers. For dinner, we head over to The Crab Shack, a Tybee institution whose motto is "Where the Elite Eat in Their Bare Feet"--but which we'll always remember as the kind of establishment where patrons bring their own beer cozies. Calling it a shack is either false humility or wishful nostalgia--it's more like a Crab Complex, with cutesy signs (DRINKING TO FORGET? PLEASE PAY IN ADVANCE), Jimmy Buffett on rotation, and a Gift Shack. We put our names on the waiting list and visit the man-made Gator Lagoon, where antsy kids are poking at baby alligators with sticks. We order salty snow crab; a low-country boil of shrimp, potatoes, and sausage; and steamed oysters, which arrive unshucked. The food is good, but I'm otherwise engaged. There's a garbage can embedded in the center of each of the tables, and for some reason this excites me. No sooner has Michael shucked an oyster than I've tossed the shell into the pail. When our waitress comes to clear, I proudly declare that I've taken care of it for her. Day one  Lodging Georgianne Inn1312 Butler Ave., Tybee Island, 800/596-5301, georgianneinn.com, from $65 Food B Matthews Eatery325 E. Bay St., Savannah, 912/233-1319, black-eyed-pea sandwich $6 The Crab Shack40 Estill Hammock Rd., Tybee Island, 912/786-9857, low-country boil $13 Day 2: Tybee Island to St. Simons Island By 8:30 a.m., there are 20 people waiting for a table at The Breakfast Club, a squat stucco house two blocks from the Georgianne. Joseph Sadowsky, an alum of the Culinary Institute of America, was recruited by John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette to cater their wedding. He's pretty great on less fancy fare, too. I have a spicy homemade sausage patty with poached eggs and buttery grits. The low-ceilinged room, with sticky brown plastic tablecloths, isn't built for lingering--just as well, considering the line outside. Highway 17, the main scenic road tracing the coast, doesn't offer much to look at until we put some distance between us and Savannah. But by the time we reach Riceboro, we're breezing under a canopy of live oaks. At South Newport, we pull off the two-lane highway to see what's billed as the smallest church in America, the Memory Park Christ Chapel. The 56-year-old nondenominational church--open 24/7 and rentable for weddings--is just 10 feet by 15 feet, with seating for only 12. A sign asks visitors to shut the door tight when leaving, which turns off the lights. I follow the instructions, perhaps too much so--the church is still rattling as we walk back to the car. Most of the islands connect to the mainland by causeways. Getting to Sapelo Island, however, requires a 30-minute ferry from Meridian across the Intracoastal Waterway. It could just as well be a time machine. When the Civil War came, the heirs of a big plantation owner, Thomas Spalding, abandoned the island, their cotton and sugarcane plantations, and many slaves. The isolation allowed the former slaves, originally from West Africa, to sustain their own self-governing community and their own language, called Geechee. To this day, 57 descendants live on Hog Hammock, a 434-acre spread. Tobacco magnate R.J. Reynolds bought the island in 1934 but didn't mess around with Hog Hammock; he breathed new life into an existing mansion and established a wildlife area that's now run by the Georgia Department of Natural Resources. The island also has a marine institute operated by the University of Georgia. To get access to Sapelo you have to have a reservation, either for a tour or at one of the island's two inns. (Before you board, you'll be asked who'll be greeting you on the other end; no name, no go.) I'd booked a tour with Yvonne Grovner, who runs trips five days a week for the Georgia D.N.R. Yvonne grew up on the mainland; she met her husband, a Geechee, in high school and moved to Hog Hammock once they got married. During a three-hour drive, Yvonne introduces us to other residents and points out the pastel, one-story shacks, most of which are abandoned. We see ruins of an old sugar mill, miles of deserted dunes on Nannygoat Beach, and the exquisitely faded Reynolds mansion. It looks like a double for the one in the 1998 movie of Great Expectations. When Yvonne moved to Hog Hammock in 1980, there were more than 100 people; today, there are about half that. Fifteen school-age kids take the ferry each day to go to school; as they get older, there's not much to keep them on the island. One person she takes us to meet is Cornelia Bailey, who runs the bar (The Trough) and the gift shop (The Pig Pen), where she sells shells and Yvonne's handmade sweetgrass baskets. Michael asks Cornelia if she's always lived in Hog Hammock. "Is there anywhere else?" she says, with a wry smile. The ferry ride back is lulling, the horizon interrupted only by green reeds and salt marshes. We drive south toward Brunswick, and then over a causeway. St. Simons Island is a world away from Sapelo. Kids in fluorescent flip-flops march giddily along the main drag, while dads golf and moms go shopping. We hunt down one of the island's five tree spirits--droopy, somewhat spooky faces that were carved into live oaks to commemorate sailors who died on boats made from St. Simons trees. (The easiest one to find is on Mallery Street, next to Murphy's Tavern.) At Zuzu's, a '50s-style diner adjacent to the pier, we share a root beer float. It suitably ruins our appetites, so all we need for dinner is a bowl of thick Brunswick stew--shredded chicken, ground pork, corn, and okra--at the nautical-themed Blackwater Grill. Day two  Transportation Sapelo Island ferryLanding Road, off Hwy. 99, 912/437-3224, cr.nps.gov/goldcres/sites/sapelo.htm, $2 round trip Lodging Sea Palms5445 Frederica Rd., St. Simons Island, 800/841-6268, seapalms.com, from $129 Food The Breakfast Club1500 Butler Ave., Tybee Island, 912/786-5984, two eggs and sausage $5.50 The Troughno address, Sapelo Island, 912/485-2206 Zuzu's119 Mallery St., St. Simons Island, 912/ 638-8655, root beer float $3.50 Blackwater Grill260 Redfern Village, St. Simons Island, 912/634-6333, Brunswick stew $5.50 Activities Memory Park Christ ChapelHwy. 17, South Newport, no phone Georgia Department of Natural Resources912/485-2300, half- or full-day tour $10 Shopping The Pig Penno address, Sapelo Island, 912/485-2206 Day 3: St. Simons Island to St. Marys Rice was the most common--and notoriously brutal--crop in coastal Georgia: Slaves who worked the soggy paddies often caught malaria. Following the Civil War, not many rice plantations survived. On a tour of the Hofwyl-Broadfield Plantation in Brunswick, we learn it was one of the few that did, in part due to a pair of savvy sisters who turned it around by converting it into a dairy farm. A terrific thunderstorm erupts right as we arrive on Jekyll Island. The Georgia coast has a subtropical climate; humid summer stretches well into October, and afternoon thunderstorms are common. We take shelter on the wide porch of the Jekyll Island Club Hotel, formerly the clubhouse commissioned by J.P. Morgan, William K. Vanderbilt, William Rockefeller, and Joseph Pulitzer, who were all part of the Jekyll Island Club, which owned the island in the late 1880s. Jekyll Island, including the hotel, was purchased by the state in 1947. I rock in a white wicker chair and admire the sailboats. For all its former wealth, Jekyll is much more casual than St. Simons. Beyond the historic district, the interior is family-friendly and modest, with mostly small ranch houses. It would be sacrilegious not to play some kind of golf, so during a break in the storm, we squeeze in a round of miniature golf, then head back to Highway 17. By the time we reach St. Marys, it's past 9 p.m. and the sleepy town is in full R.E.M. We check into the Spencer House Inn, a huge pink Victorian run by Mike and Mary Neff. Our huge top-floor room has a four-poster bed and a claw-foot tub. But the real draw is a DVD player; we borrow Friday Night Lights from Mike and Mary, who say it's one of the few DVDs in their collection that they were able to agree on, and settle in for the night. Day three  Lodging Spencer House Inn101 E. Bryant St., St. Marys, 888/840-1872, spencerhouseinn.com, from $100 Activities Hofwyl-Broadfield Plantation5556 Hwy. 17, Brunswick, 912/264-7333, gastateparks.org, $5 Jekyll Island Miniature GolfCourse 2, Beachview Dr., 912/635-2648, $5.30 Resources Jekyll Island Visitors Center901 Downing Musgrove Cswy., 877/453-5955, jekyllisland.com Day 4: St. Marys to Savannah St. Marys is where you board a ferry to Cumberland Island, which is run by the National Park Service. Thomas Carnegie owned the island in the late 19th century, and now wild horses and turkeys run free amid the ruins of his mansion. The sole lodging, the posh Greyfield Inn, is a mansion built by his widow; it was the site of the Kennedy-Bessette reception. Only 300 people are allowed on Cumberland each day, and it's wise to reserve months ahead for the 45-minute ferry. Yesterday's rain messed up the ferry schedule, and there's no way to see the island and make our flight. So we look into renting a kayak from Up the Creek Xpeditions and walk around St. Marys. It's the prettiest town of our trip. Day four  Activities Cumberland Island912/882-4335, nps.gov/cuis, $4, round-trip ferry $15 Up the Creek Xpeditions111 Osborne St., St. Marys, 912/882-0911, upthecreektrips.com, kayaks $40-$60 per day Finding your way Causeways link most of the islands to the mainland, and in all but one case, they're free. The exception: There's a $3 daily car fee to visit state-owned Jekyll Island. The ferries to Cumberland and Sapelo islands depart only a couple of times a day, so plan your schedule in advance, and be sure to make the ferry back to the mainland. (There aren't any places to buy food on Cumberland, so bring your own lunch and water.) And when driving back up to Savannah, Highway 95 may seem like the speedy route, but it can take over three hours when the traffic is bad, which is often.

For years, the tiny fishing village of Yelapa was the refuge of Bob Dylan, Dennis Hopper, and other cosmic caballero types who gathered in search of lonely beaches, cheap tequila, and readily available hallucinogens. Only fairly recently have more mainstream travelers begun looking to the 2,000-person town as a quiet antidote to the condo complexes and American chain stores closing in on Puerto Vallarta, 20 miles to the north. The speedboat ride between Puerto Vallarta and Yelapa, from one end of Banderas Bay to the other, takes 45 minutes. Behind the beach where boats land is a village of steep paths, randomly laid out. Children skitter about in their underwear, some bearing velvety hibiscus blossoms, which they sell for $1 apiece. The only sounds are the surf crashing and the jaunty rhythms of conjunto music pouring from the squat, pastel houses. Because the small town is hemmed in between jungle and ocean, Yelapa has no roads or cars. There are very few phones. And there are no street names or maps. But there's also no need to worry. It's the kind of place where someone will point you in the right direction. Most locals, whether Mexicans or expats, are on a first-name basis. Take Enrico, the handsome French baker who moved to town last year. (His real name is Henri, but no one here can pronounce it.) Enrico has become a regular sight most mornings, wandering about in his white apron, selling miniature fruit pies for $1. A community bulletin board in the middle of town reads TODAY: BANANA MUFFINS AND CINNAMON ROLLS. There's no indication of where to find them. The implication is, if you're in Yelapa, you already know--or someone will be happy to help you. Your first stop should be the Vortex Café, where the friendly owners seem to know everything about Yelapa, in addition to serving great huevos rancheros ($6.50) and strong Mexican coffee. In fact, Yelapa has a few terrific restaurants. Mimi's Café, in the center of the village, is low-key and charming, with a handful of umbrellaed tables in a courtyard, and fiery chile rellenos ($6). Given the town's unpretentious vibe, the sophistication of the menu at La Galería may come as a surprise; Tatiana Moreno Greene concocts Nueva Mexicana dishes such as chicken mole crepes, and plantain cakes filled with goat cheese and peppers ($7). Also unexpected in such a small town: There's something to do at night. On Wednesday and Saturday evenings, the entire expat community takes to the dance floor at the Yacht Club, where DJs spin a rotating mix of salsa, reggae, and hip-hop. By day, the action, such as it is, centers on the beach. Yelapa's one large stretch is divided by an inlet. The Big Beach on the northern end is where day-trippers from Puerto Vallarta go to drink overpriced Coronas at a handful of thatched-roof restaurants. Hotel Lagunita, the more affordable of Yelapa's two bona fide hotels, has whimsical banana-yellow bungalows, morning yoga classes, and a beautifully landscaped pool. Long-term travelers lay their sarongs on the small beach (La Playita), which is far more peaceful, marked only by the Yacht Club. If you've tired of Yelapa's offerings, ask for Sefarino; he'll take you on a day trip to Las Marietas islands, where the beaches are even emptier, save for a colony of blue-footed booby seabirds. And Ramon Díaz is your man for a horseback tour of the jungle; he'll lead the way to wading pools under a waterfall shaded by Jurassic-size ferns. The village of Yelapa, while charming, is no competitor for Mexico's colonial towns, with their gracious churches and town squares. And the beaches aren't exactly world-class. They're narrow and short, and the sand is somewhat rough. To get a taste of what makes this place so alluring, you have to follow the rocky path that runs along the ocean to La Punta ("The Point"). On your way, you'll pass Casa Isabel: four lovely, distinctive palapas, and a main house with a well-stocked library and a collection of Huichol Indian art. The owner, Isabel Jordan, is a longtime Yelapa resident and a self-taught expert on Huichol culture. Further on, other privately owned palapas get more elaborate, almost grand. For $75 and up, you can rent one with two or three stories sporting a view of the ocean that stretches into infinity. There are no concierge services, 300-thread-count sheets, four-star restaurants, or multitiered swimming pools--just the sound of waves crashing somewhere in the dark beneath you, and the sense that although not a thing in this raffish little town has been planned, there is something improbably, haphazardly perfect about it. Transportation   Water Taxi Jack Playa de Los Muertos pier, Puerto Vallarta, 011-52/322-209-5022, yelapa.info/jack.html, round trip $18 Lodging   Hotel Lagunita 011-52/322-209-5056, hotel-lagunita.com, from $50   Casa Isabel no phone, yelapa.info/isabel.html, from $35   Palapa rentals 011-52/322-209-5096, palapainyelapa.com, from $25 Nightlife   Yacht Club on La Playita, no phone

By the time I was growing up there in the '70s and '80s, Niagara Falls had ceased to be the honeymoon icon of yesteryear. The region was economically depressed and famously polluted. Forget the 1953 Marilyn Monroe movie Niagara; my experience was better captured in the 1982 made-for-TV movie Lois Gibbs and the Love Canal. The chemical dump, which the government declared a hazard in 1978, was right in my family's backyard. Though I happily escaped from the city about a decade later, I return for visits all the time. During the '90s, while the rest of the country was booming, Niagara seemed to sink deeper into a slump. Factories closed, storefronts were boarded up, and unemployment soared. It's only been the past few years--after some much-needed cleanups--that things are begining to improve. Now when I go back, I find myself in the middle of big crowds of tourists, rediscovering what makes the place so great. There are actually two towns named Niagara Falls: the one in New York, where I grew up, and the one across the river, in Ontario. The grass is greener on the U.S. side, thanks to a state park designed by Frederick Law Olmsted. I've always been amazed at how close you can get to the Falls. In several spots, the edge is just a few feet away, with a guardrail that's only waist-high. I remember being a teenager, gazing into the churning rapids while listening to the Cure on a Walkman, dreaming of a more exciting life--like the one on the other side of the border. Niagara Falls, Ontario, had all the action: year-round amusement parks, wax museums, neon lights. As I grew older, I amended that list to include better music, stronger beer, and a lower drinking age. A couple months ago, I brought my boyfriend, Chad, along to visit my family. The big news on the U.S. side is the Seneca Niagara Casino, in what used to be the convention center. But we figured we'd get a better return on our money at Twist o' the Mist, an ice cream stand next to the Rainbow Bridge. It's only been around for 11 years, but there's a retro charm--the building is shaped like a squat soft-serve cone--that the rest of the town is missing. Locals and tourists line up for oversize scoops of flavors like Super Hero, a mix of cherry bubblegum, lemon, and blue raspberry. Chad and I rode the elevator down to Niagara's most famous attraction, the Maid of the Mist, a boat that takes you right to the grandest crashing point, Horseshoe Falls. I hadn't been onboard since high school, and I was sad to see that the sturdy yellow slickers have been replaced with blue, cellophane-like ponchos that made us look shrink-wrapped. But I was grateful for the protection at the turnaround, where it felt like we were in a typhoon. We did our best to blink through the billowing mist, while watching courageous geese dive for fish. It really is awesome. Niagara may have lost its top-tier reputation in this country, but it still carries international appeal. Throughout the years, the area has drawn hordes of South Asian tourists, and its popularity has caught the attention of the local population, with savvy entrepreneurs opening curry stands near the Falls. On our boat ride, Chad and I were impressed with the number of nationalities aboard. One Syrian family told us that because of stricter visa laws since September 11, they weren't allowed to cross over to Canada. (That, along with the new casino, could explain a surge of visitors on the U.S. side.) For Americans, the passage over the border remains a breeze--answer a few quick questions at the tollbooth and you're in. We planned to spend the night in Canada. All my life, I'd seen advertisements for heart-shaped whirlpool tubs, yet I'd never experienced one firsthand. Before settling into our motel, the Chalet Inn & Suites, Chad and I took a spin around Clifton Hill, Niagara Falls' version of Times Square. As a kid, I used to test my bravery at Canada's many wax museums. I'd force myself to shake hands with Frankenstein or get up close to gory historical scenes; I'll never forget Marie Antoinette's grisly beheading. I credit them for instilling in me a keen love for all things kitschy or macabre, like luaus and zombie movies. Our visit coincided with the reopening of Louis Tussaud's Waxworks. Louis was the great-grandson of Madame, and his wax museum was the first one in town. Admission is $11; if you're in a silly mood, it's worth every penny. The glass barriers are gone, so now you can casually mingle with the assorted celebrities, examining every waxy pore on John Candy, Celine Dion, Pamela Anderson, and several versions of Mike Myers. (Canadians love nothing more than reminding people which stars are Canadian.) Despite the fun we had at Louis's place, we found Clifton Hill a bit overwhelming. Every inch of the short, steep strip is occupied by a splashy billboard or neon advertisement. It's hard to find a restaurant--or anything else--that isn't part of a franchise. We opted for one of the more charming ones, Montana's Cookhouse, a Western-themed smokehouse that serves decent barbecue. Other than the wax museums, the Canadian side does have one thing going for it: the better view. Rainbows are a constant, and at night giant lights turn the Falls all sorts of colors. I was happy to see that the leaf-themed cast-iron guardrails are still there--I remembered them from the Marilyn Monroe movie, and they're one of the few remnants from the city's golden age. That and the heart-shaped tub: As we fought our way back to the motel through the throngs, it became more enticing with every step. Lodging Chalet Inn & Suites 5577 Ellen Ave., Niagara Falls, Ont., 866/287-1110, chalet-inn.com, from $49 Food Montana's Cookhouse 5657 Victoria Ave., Niagara Falls, Ont., 905/356-7427 Twist o' the Mist 18 Niagara St., Niagara Falls, N.Y., 716/285-0702 Activities Maid of the Mist Niagara Falls State Park, 716/284-8897, maidofthemist.com, 30-minute tour $11.50 Louis Tussaud's Waxworks 5907 Victoria Ave., Niagara Falls, Ont., 905/374-6601, $11 Seneca Niagara Casino 310 Fourth St., Niagara Falls, N.Y., 877/873-6322, senecaniagaracasino.com

South Beach has seen it all. The 1.7-square-mile strip in Miami Beach has more than 125 hotels, most of which are art deco gems from the 1920s and '30s. In the 1940s, when it was a virtual military base, many hotels were converted into barracks and training facilities. By the 1980s, there was enough questionable activity to form the backdrop for Miami Vice. Today, things have come full circle, and then some--the neighborhood is a full-fledged hotspot. South Beach still has the country's largest collection of art deco buildings, and the owners of these five hotels intend to keep it that way. Thirteen years ago, Lisa and Pascal Nicolle bought the Villa apartment complex at Collins Avenue and 14th Street. The couple, who had previously made a living flipping residential properties in Miami, gave the place a dressy new name, Villa Paradiso, and started off doing weekly and monthly rentals. "We bought some $2 lamps at a thrift store and sort of scribbled a room for rent sign outside," Lisa recalls with a laugh. "We couldn't believe it when people called!" As South Beach became more of a vacation destination, the couple gradually transformed the Villa into a proper hotel. They outfitted the 17 bright and spacious apartments with chaises, whimsical leopard-print pillows, and bright white scrims that hang between the bedroom and kitchen areas. "We want it to be your own little home away from home," says Lisa. The Nicolles have one full-time resident. A stray black cat checked into the lush courtyard a while back and hasn't budged. 1415 Collins Ave., 305/532-0616, villaparadisohotel.com, from $99 low season, $139 high. In 2001, the Nicolles purchased a second apartment complex five blocks south of the Villa and converted it into the Villa's younger, hipper sibling, The Loft Hotel. In the middle of the Collins Avenue action, the 22 apartments sit in a two-story line perpendicular to the street (the farthest--and quietest--rooms are the highest-numbered ones). Even the rooms near Collins seem serene on the inside, however, with tile or blond wood floors and wrought-iron headboards. All have full kitchens and cute breakfast nooks with a round café table. Throughout, Lisa placed bouquets of dried milky-white flowers that she and Pascal had brought back from France. "Sometimes people call up and want to know which hotel is better," Lisa says. "How do you choose? It's like having two kids! I say the Villa is a little more Key West, while at the Loft I feel like I need to put on lipstick." 952 Collins Ave., 305/534-2244, thelofthotel.com, from $109 low season, $149 high. In South Beach, paying for style usually means staying in an Ian Schrager-inspired den of predictable minimalism--white duvet, track lighting, cement floor, bare walls. Not so at the Hotel Impala, a worthy splurge more in the style of a Mediterranean villa. The gated entrance, on Collins at 12th Street, immediately sets a warm tone; a curving Italian saturnia-stone path leads through a tropical garden into the cozy lobby. "It's like a private retreat from the craziness of South Beach," says general manager Ros Gottuso, who is the face of the place (the proprietor is a silent owner). The sun mosaic inlaid in the lobby floor was a gift from Gianni Versace, who was friends with the five men who opened the Impala 11 years ago. "We pride ourselves in being helpful without being overly intrusive," says Gottuso. The 17 rooms have new armoires, sleigh beds, and wrought-iron fixtures. And the terra-cotta roof, interior archways, and local coral rock in the bathrooms are all original details. A free continental breakfast of fresh orange juice, toast, and croissants is served in the adjoining Spiga restaurant. 1228 Collins Ave., 800/646-7252, hotelimpalamiamibeach.com, from $145 low season, $195 high. Swiss-born Beatrice and Matt Morell decided to try their hand at the hotel business in 2001, after a stint in California where he operated a car-repair shop and she waited tables. They drove every inch of the Florida coast before coming across a place in South Beach that seemed like kismet: a 1937 apartment complex, designed by architect Henry Hohauser, resembling a Swiss chalet. In the process of transforming it to the Atlantica Hotel and Suites, the couple gutted the interior, updated the plumbing and electricity, and added IKEA-like spare furniture and bright blue bedspreads. The 26-room Atlantica is decidedly more spic-and-span than sleek, but where else in South Beach--especially in SoFi, the hip South of Fifth Street section--can you get a reliably nice room in high season for under $100 a night? "We are not a party hotel," reminds Beatrice. "We are quiet and simple, and we get many repeat guests because of that." A simple breakfast of croissants, bagels, hard-boiled eggs, and yogurt is free, and the Morells will also gladly lend out their supply of beach chairs and umbrellas. 321 Collins Ave., hotelatlantica.com, 305/532-7077, from $69 low season, $89 high. Vilma Biaggi, a Miami-based doctor, bought the 1941 art deco Cadet Hotel 20 years ago. Over time, the hotel has become her pet project; Biaggi just finished an extensive two-year renovation. Mint-green hallways are now lit by lamps with parchment shades, and the 40 rooms all have orchids and framed black-and-white photos by local artists. After studying historical photos of the hotel, Biaggi preserved the building's nautical-themed facade, a porthole-style window near the lobby bar, and an inlaid compass design in the lobby floor. A poster of Clark Gable reminds visitors that in the 1940s, the screen star--then a cadet commander--occasionally stayed in room 225. (The building used to be a way station for West Point cadets.) For breakfast, guests have their choice of waffles, omelets, or yogurt and muesli, which they can eat on the wide porch. The Cadet is only two blocks from the busy Lincoln Road mall, but sitting behind a thick curtain of foliage, you'd hardly know it. 1701 James Ave., 305/672-6688, cadethotel.com, from $89 low season, $125 high.