Milford Sound: Power in the Mist

Milford Sound sits deep within Fiordland National Park on the southwest coast of the South Island.

Reaching it requires a long drive through mountain passes and dense forest. The journey alone tells you that you are going somewhere distinct.

Somewhere remote.

I arrived under a low, heavy sky. The mist never fully lifted, and in this place, that felt entirely appropriate. Clouds moved slowly across the peaks, revealing a jagged edge one moment and concealing it the next. It gave the landscape a shifting, unsettled quality that a camera can only partially capture.

Despite the name, it isn’t actually a sound.

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Washington’s Cherry Blossoms at Their Peak

Washington’s cherry blossoms are now in full bloom.

Each spring, the city changes almost overnight. Washington is usually defined by its permanence—heavy marble, wide avenues, a city built to project endurance. And, at times, one demonstration after another.

But for a few weeks, that permanence is softened by something entirely fragile.

Pale pinks and whites line the Tidal Basin and spread outward into the neighborhoods. The hard, stone edges of the capital are suddenly framed by millions of delicate petals. For a brief period, the city feels lighter, quieter, and more open.

It is easy to forget, living here year after year, just how beautiful Washington can be.

The routine of daily life tends to flatten that awareness. But mornings like this—standing by the water as the sun rises behind the blossoms—restore it.

The light, the trees, the reflections on the water—it all comes together in a way that feels both simple and fleeting.

In a few days, the petals will begin to fall, and the city will return to its heavier, more familiar self.

But for now, Washington is at its best.

Rotorua: Culture at the Surface

Rotorua is different from other places in New Zealand. The difference is not subtle.

It has one of the largest and most visible Māori populations in the country. Over 40% of Rotorua’s residents are Māori—well above the national average—and the region sits within the traditional rohe of Te Arawa iwi. That presence is not confined to cultural sites or performances. It is part of everyday life.

Rotorua Primary School, where Māori culture and modern education come together in everyday life.

You hear te reo Māori—the Māori language—spoken in schools and in public spaces. Marae are part of the landscape. Cultural expression is visible, but more importantly, it is continuous. It does not feel preserved for visitors. It feels lived.

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Melbourne: Energy at Street Level

Melbourne at dusk along the Yarra River.

Melbourne is often described as Australia’s cultural capital, and after a few days there, I began to understand why. It’s a city that doesn’t demand that you look up at skyscrapers; it asks you to look in—into narrow alleys, quiet library nooks, and hidden basement cafés.

The city has a lively energy—cafés everywhere, crowds along the river, and during the early rounds of the Australian Open, the whole place feels like a celebration of sport. I stayed at The Langham Melbourne, just a short walk from the entrance to Melbourne Park, which made getting to the matches especially easy. At one point, I asked the hotel staff whether the Australian Open was their busiest time of year. The answer was telling: Australians love sports, and Melbourne hosts major sporting events throughout the year. That enthusiasm is hard to miss—it’s part of the city’s identity. And, at least from what I saw, Australians also have a healthy appreciation for beer.

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Aoraki / Mount Cook — New Zealand’s Highest Peak

It’s one thing to read about New Zealand’s tallest mountain; it’s quite another to see it suddenly rise above the horizon with such sharp authority.

The Cloud Piercer

The Māori name for the mountain, Aoraki, is often translated as “cloud piercer.” According to Ngāi Tahu tradition, Aoraki was an ancestor exploring the seas with his brothers when their canoe, Te Waka o Aoraki, capsized. As they climbed onto the overturned hull, the cold south wind froze them in place, turning them into the great stone peaks of the Southern Alps. Today Aoraki remains the highest of these brothers and holds deep spiritual and cultural significance.

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Sydney: Harbour, Light, and Unexpected Moments

Sydney Harbour at dusk, with the Sydney Opera House and Harbour Bridge illuminated as evening settles over the water.

When I arrived in Sydney, the first thing I noticed was the harbour. Few cities sit on water as beautiful as this — ferries crossing the harbour, the white sails of the Opera House catching the light, and beaches only a short ride away.

The famous views were every bit as striking as I had imagined.

But what stayed with me most were the quieter moments: an outdoor cinema beside the harbour, a peaceful reading room filled with light, and a conversation with a man inviting Jews to put on tefillin near Bondi Beach. Behind the postcard beauty of a city, there are always deeper stories.

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Heaven on the Edge of a Lake

Queenstown sits lightly on the edge of Lake Wakatipu — small in population, immense in presence.

Before this trip, I had never heard of Queenstown.

That almost feels embarrassing to admit now.

The first time I saw it — the mountains rising sharply from Lake Wakatipu, the impossible green of the landscape, the clarity of the air — my jaw literally dropped. Not metaphorically. I stood still.

Some places impress you.

Some rearrange you.

Queenstown rearranged me.

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Crossing Half the Planet

The Longest Journey of My Life

For most of my life, Australia and New Zealand felt almost theoretical — names at the bottom of the map, separated from my daily reality by oceans and time zones. I had traveled far before, but never that far. The idea of seventeen hours in the air — followed by another eighteen on the return — felt less like travel and more like a test of endurance.

Distance has a psychological weight. It suggests effort. Risk. Fatigue.

And yet, this year, I decided to go.

I flew from San Francisco to Singapore — roughly seventeen hours suspended above the Pacific. I spent a couple of days exploring Singapore, then continued on to Melbourne for the Australian Open. From there I traveled through Australia and New Zealand, moving across landscapes that seemed improbably wide, watching light linger late into the evening as if the day itself resisted ending.

On the way home, I flew from Auckland to Singapore, paused briefly at Changi Airport, and then boarded Singapore Airlines Flight 24 to JFK — more than eighteen hours nonstop, one of the longest commercial flights in the world.

By the time I landed in New York, I had crossed half the planet.

Something in me had shifted.

The world no longer felt impossibly large. It felt connected. Reachable.

More surprising still: I realized I was comfortable with ultra-long haul travel. What once seemed daunting had become manageable — even calm.

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Memorable Places

Lobby, Four Seasons Hotel, Toronto – © David H. Enzel, 2024

Over the years I’ve stayed in many hotels. Most of them blur together. A few, however, have never left me.

This is not a list of the “best” or the most luxurious places in the world. It’s something more personal. These are properties — including one cruise line — that stayed with me long after I checked out. Places that, for one reason or another, made me feel unusually well cared for, at ease, or quietly happy to be exactly where I was.

I have stayed at every place on this list. None of this is theoretical.

The list is in no particular order and will continue to evolve over time. If a place belongs here for you, feel free to leave a suggestion in the comments.

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