Photo: Borgo Egnazia

If the press releases flooding my inbox are to be believed, Italy is the number one European destination for Americans again this summer. My reaction? Strike Italy off the vacation list. Because nothing gets in the way of la dolce vita like marauding fanny packs and la lingua Americana.

But there are still regions where international tourism could be described as piccolo rather than mass. When I asked members of Tourism for Italy for their suggestions at a dinner at Faustina last week, Puglia and Le Marche, on, respectively, the heel and inner thigh of Italy, kept coming back.

I don’t know Le Marche, but I did spend a long weekend in Puglia several years ago, sliding around the shiny white streets of the hilltop town of Ostuni, marveling at the munchkin trullis in Alberobello, and eating a lot of orecchiette, the region’s ear-shaped pasta.

Then it rained solidly for 48 hours, which you don’t expect in early September. When, finally, there was a break in the deluge, we made a run for the hire car, drove into a flood and, once we’d swum to safety, watched the car float gently off into the distance, its doors outstretched like wings. But that’s another story.

I’d thoroughly recommend Masseria Torre Maizza, the fortified farm hotel where we stayed, which I expect has dried out by now. It’s inland but has a private beach, and you can cycle there past vineyards and olive groves. It also has a spa, which was more useful, and had the distinction of introducing my then boyfriend to paper underwear, which he mistook for a hat.

And if I went back, I’d want to check out swanky Borgo Egnazia, which opens this season with a golf course, three restaurants, and a spa. And I’d also make sure I got fully comprehensive insurance for the hire car.

I’ve found it difficult to trust horses ever since I had a run in with a break-dancing mare in Ireland several years ago. But while staying at Hacienda San Gabriel, in Morelos, Mexico earlier this week, I gallantly put my fears aside. I ventured to the stables, threw myself, helmetless, astride a docile-looking creature, and trotted past the compound’s heavy wooden gates into the countryside.

As my guide, Hernando, and I bobbed past sugar cane fields, sniffing air laundered by the first storm of the year, it was hard to believe we were less than two hours from gargantuan Mexico City.

This region is of considerable historical significance: Hacienda San Gabriel was one of many in the area commissioned by Hernan Cortez, who lived nearby, and it was the HQ of radical Emiliano Zapata towards the end of the Mexican Revolution.

This fall, Mexico celebrates the bicentennial of its independence from Spain and the centennial of the revolution. Until Hernando whipped a bleating mobile phone from his pocket we could have been Zapatistas, marching out in pursuit of tierra y libertad, so devoid was this agrarian scene of any hallmarks of the 21st century.

But then, because equine fear is a self-fulfilling prophecy, my charge decided to bolt. It was more feminine canter than full-on gallop, and the beast was tranquillo again before long, but the spell had been broken.

Back at the hacienda, I spent the next two hours having the horse-induced tension wrestled out of me at the spa: my clenched fingers unfurled, my lower back rolfed. Meanwhile, an army helicopter buzzed overhead, evidence of a very contemporary kind of conflict: Mexico's war on drugs.

‘It’s ruined!’ exclaimed a friend who has been coming to Montauk, New York since he was a child, as we surveyed the nautical accented interior of the town’s newest coffee shop on Memorial Day. He was talking about the gentrification of the fishing port and unassuming (or 'kind of crappy', as he put it) seaside resort on the eastern tip of Long Island, which feels a little more like a Hampton every year.

But there are still plenty of places in Montauk where you won’t pay $4 for a coffee, or feel like a freak for wearing flip-flops and sand in your hair instead of Louboutins and a blowout. Here are some suggestions. Just don’t all go at once.

Duryea’s Lobster
Plastic furniture, super fresh lobster and a tranquil Fort Pond setting make this the place to spend a sunny afternoon. Bring a bottle (their BYO license was renewed this year) and come late for lunch.

Montauket Restaurant
A slightly scruffy bar-restaurant that’s perfect for sundowners. Order a pint of Brooklyn Summer Ale or a daiquiri from the beach bar, and watch the sun dip into Fort Pond.

The Ditch Witch
This food cart on Ditch Plains beach feeds hungry surfers coffee, quesadillas and cake. Make friends in the line at peak times.

John’s Pancake House
Don’t let the sticky, swirly carpet put you off: the doorstep-sized pancakes are delicious, particularly with a side of corned beef.

The Hideaway
Fishing families and sunburned surfers converge on this Mexican restaurant in Diamond Cove Marina for shrimp tacos, chicken tamales, and Dos Equis lager. Little neck clams and steamers make appearances on the menu later in the season.

Chef DeLucie in the dining room

The Lion, a new/old (it used to be the Village) restaurant in a brownstone on West Ninth Street, is appropriately named: it’s a microcosm of New York’s Darwinian society, and dining, or trying to dine, there is a bit like being a zebra during the migration. When I went the week it opened it was swarming with “women who look as if they want to eat you,” to quote a friend visiting from London.

We waited over an hour for our table, periodically tip-toeing up to the hyena at the front desk to beg for updates, while familiar-looking people breezed into the beautiful double-height dining room decorated with Basquiats, Warhols, and 1980s newspaper crime scene shots. Upstairs was a photograph of a woman being ravished by a bear. You’d never guess the owners were male.

When we were seated it was in Siberia, or to continue the safari metaphor, a very long way from the watering hole. And we had a great meal. Not much has been written about former Waverly Inn executive chef John DeLucie’s food at the Lion—the point is, of course, the scene. But every dish was delicious, and the service surprisingly attentive. Standouts were the cherry-red tuna tartare, softly spiced Thai mussels, and the burger. True, my tastebuds had been generously lubricated by this stage, but I know a good burger.

And just occasionally, joining the zoo (sorry) is exactly what’s required from a night out in New York. So give them a call on 212-353-8400 (they have a real phone! You can even email them!) and book a table for 2015.

Several of you have emailed asking for more details for the road trips I talked about on the Today Show on Tuesday, so here you go. Top of my list? Highway 1 to Big Sur. I last went when I was six, so I'm definitely due a return visit.

Blue Ridge Parkway, Virginia

Why? “America’s favorite drive,” this 469-mile route has an extraordinary wealth of flora and fauna, including 59 bird species—more than the entire European continent. This year, the Parkway celebrates its 75th anniversary, and the state of Virginia is offering a variety of packages, special events and the chance to win an eco-friendly family vacation. Find them here.

How to see it Start at the Shenandoah National Park in Virginia, end at the Great Smoky Mountains over the border in North Carolina.

Where to stay Under canvas! The Parkway has nine campgrounds, and you can choose between sleeping under the stars and getting cozy in a cabin.

Big Sky Country, Montana and Wyoming

Why? Three national parks: Glacier, Yellowstone, and Grand Teton, filled with ancient glaciers, hundred-foot geysers, sawtooth mountains, and pristine alpine lakes—plus grizzly and black bears. Check out our 10-day Iconic Itinerary feature for a step-by-step guide to the region. Come this summer to catch the Grand Teton Music Festival, which hosts symphony orchestras from all around the country, and has free concerts on Tuesdays.

How to see it Begin on the northern end of Big Sky Country at Glacier National Park in Montana; end at Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Where to stay No trip to Montana would be complete without a few nights playing cowboy on a dude ranch. Mountain Sky Guest Ranch is cushy but authentic: you don’t have to herd the Angus cattle, but you can go horseback riding and kick back in the hot tub afterwards.

Hudson Valley and Catskill Mountains, New York

Why? This history-saturated region has stunning river views, lakes, and vineyards—all a couple of hours from New York City. Stop off at the legendary town of Sleepy Hollow, named after Washington Irving’s novel, which was set here (look out for the headless horseman); experience the domestic life of a patriot family during the American Revolution at the Van Cortlandt Manor in Croton-on-Hudson; get the lowdown on FDR’s New Deal at his mansion Hyde Park; and stroll the new Walkway Over the Hudson—opened last October, it’s the longest pedestrian-only bridge in the world.

How to see it Head north from Manhattan towards Westchester.

Where to stay Mohonk Mountain House is a 267-room Victorian castle overlooking Lake Mohonk. Rates are inclusive of meals and most activities: there are 85 miles of hiking trails, tennis, golf, boating and children’s programs.

Scenic Byway 12, Utah

Why? Byway 12, a 124-mile route in Southern Utah, is the highlight of the state’s more than 2,200 miles of scenic byways. It’s Utah’s only ‘All-American Road’—so-called because of its spectacular natural wonders.

How to see it Start at Torrey and end in Bryce. The 124-mile route ascends over 9,000 feet and passes through Red Canyon, where the byway cuts through the rust-colored limestone of Dixie National Forest, and rises in elevation towards portions of Bruce Canyon National Park. On the way to the town of Tropic, the road drops and winds through red rock hoodoos and pink and orange sandstone, and nearby, Cannonville town lies along the northern boundary of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. Don’t just sit in the car: hiking, biking, and horseback riding are all on offer.

Where to stay Boulder Mountain Lodge is a comfortable, affordable option and a great base for exploring the best of the rock formations.

Highway 1 to Big Sur, California

Why? A 90-mile drive along American’s most breathtaking coast: the road hugs sheer limestone cliffs that drop down into the Pacific. You could almost be on the Amalfi Coast. There are numerous activities on offer in addition to gawping at the view: wine tasting, golfing, and touring William Randolph Hearst’s Castle, a seaside Shangri-La in the hills of San Simeon.

How to see it Start at San Francisco, head south to Carmel and onto San Simeon. Big Sur is the only significant settlement in between.

Where to stay The wonderfully romantic Post Ranch Inn has rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows looking onto the ocean, fireplaces, a fully stocked fridge, and a great spa.

The Met Cloisters in their full, springtime glory.
Photo: Kate Maxwell

My Mum dodged the ash cloud still coating Europe and came to stay with me last weekend. Sometimes it takes a visitor to shake you from your routine and persuade you out of your 'hood. Mrs. M’s visit had the following effects: I swapped Americanos for endless cups of Earl Grey, roasted a chicken, and spent more time on the 6 train in three days than I have in three months.

Here are some of the highlights of our culture-jammed weekend.

Friday

We skipped over to Brooklyn to see Creditors at BAM (also known as the Brooklyn Academy of Music). Alan Rickman’s take on August Strindberg’s psychological relationship drama was a taut, jet-lag friendly 90 minutes, entertaining and well-acted, if rather implausible.

Saturday

We took the A train up to the Met's Cloisters, narrowly avoided being blown into the Hudson during the walk through fragrant Fort Tyron, and spent a very happy few hours wandering around said cloisters (and feeling sorry for the French for having parted with them), the museum's magnificent Unicorn tapestries, and assorted medieval art, including a lovely wooden Virgin and headless child.

That evening, we watched Luc Bondy’s controversial new production of Tosca at the Met Opera, the plot of which had a few things in common with Creditors. The singing was beautiful, particularly Marcello Giordani’s Cavaradossi; the performances rather lackluster. Even in death, Tosca seemed phlegmatic. My Mum recalled seeing a production in which Tosca hurled herself from the tower onto a trampoline—and reappeared seconds later.

Sunday

We joined scores of mothers and daughters at the Met for the Picasso exhibition, a 300-work romp through the artist’s extraordinarily varied cast of characters (picadors, musketeers, acrobats, neoclassical sex gods) and periods (blue, rose, cubist, surrealist, etc). Highly recommended.

Monday

Chilly temps notwithstanding, spring has sprung on the High Line: it was a sylvan spread of cushiony green shrubs sprigged with delicate pink, blue and white flowers, and a complete contrast to the sad, brown landscape I saw on my last visit, a couple of months ago.

Having walked the park from 14th to 20th and back again, we jumped the 6 and headed to the Neue Galerie for the Otto Dix exhibit of war-wounded grotesques, circus artists, and colorful cabaret dancers. The most entertaining work was in the gallery’s café: An angular-faced, red-haired, real-life dead ringer for a Dix subject.

And just before sunset, we counted about 15 of Antony Gormley's 31 life-sized iron figures standing portentously on buildings around Madison Square Park.

And what we ate

Lobster rolls at Luke’s Lobster, polenta and eggs at Northern Spy, sardines and spit-roast lamb at Peasant, burgers at Soho House, kaffee und kuchen at Café Sabarsky, sweetbreads and sea bass at Gramercy Tavern.

The Rwandan genocide, the worst massacre since the Holocaust, happened 16 years ago, but despite the government’s efforts to promote "truth, justice, and reconciliation" via its Community Courts, many people still know little about how their loved ones met their deaths.

Deborah Scranton’s powerful documentary, Earth Made of Glass, which I saw at Tribeca this week, follows one such survivor, Jean Pierre Sagahutu, as he tries desperately to uncover the circumstances of his father’s murder.

For me, the revelation that the French not only turned a blind eye to the genocide, but may have supplied the Hutus with weapons and even facilitated training, was the biggest surprise of the film. I'm not entirely sure of the accuracy, or objectivity, of this—the fact that the director and producer are American, that they premiered the film in America, and America has not enjoyed the best relations with France this century, should probably be noted. But the case was made convincingly, not least by Rwandan president Paul Kagame, who contributed to the film, and attended the screening

Inevitably, Sagahutu’s investigation moves slowly. Most of the villagers he asks for information about his father's are women; most claim they were sick when his father was dragged away, and so can't help. The point the film does not make is that these women may well have been incapacitated: they may have been being raped. An estimated 500,000 women were raped in Rwanda during the genocide, and not one single conviction has been made.

California's Coachella Festival
Photos: Kate Maxwell

What to wear to a music festival? If the festival in question is in England, the answer is simple: whatever looks ok with a pair of wellies. America’s sunny summer climes allow for a little more creativity.

I was hoping to return from Coachella in Palm Springs last week with a memory card full of Hot Looks to inspire those headed to Bonnaroo near Nashville, Lollapalooza in Chicago, and All Points West a hop from NYC this summer. Sadly, it was not to be.

Kelly Osbourne, for example, paired what looked like her Nana’s pink rinse wig with an extraordinary black platform, white sock, and blue short ensemble, and accessorized with a friend in cow print pants and cowboy boots. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

So instead, I collected photographic evidence of what not to wear.

Jardins Secret in Nîmes, France, one of Juliet Kinsman's top picks

Our May issue, out this week, features our pick of the world's best new hotels, some of which I reviewed. And while I'd strongly recommend you check out the Reform Club in Amangansett, NY, the Puli in Shanghai, and Dean Street Townhouse in London, there are, obviously, established hotels in all of these places that also merit a stay. Indeed, one criteria for a Hot List hotel is that it should be somewhere you'd want to revisit. New classics, in other words.

With this in mind, I asked Juliet Kinsman, editor-in-chief of Brit-based boutique travel specialists Mr & Mrs Smith, for her European classics. Mr & Mrs Smith turned the British dirty weekend into something far more sophisticated when they published a slick guide to UK boutique hotels seven years ago; books on boutique hotels around the world have followed, and now you can book all their picks online. I'm embarrassed to say I've never stayed at any of Juliet's favorites, so perhaps I'll remedy that this summer.

Blakes, London
More is definitely more at Anouska Hempel's seductive South Ken stay, the standard bearer for modern decadence. Glamorous to its gills, each boudoir is laced with far-flung fabulousness and boasts a heritage that spans film stars to rock legends. Rooms 41. Rates £210-£1,295 plus VAT.

JK Capri, Italy
Transporting art-infused elegance to this Tyrrhenian isle, Florentine JK Place’s coastal little sister is infused with fragrant lemon trees and sparkling sea views. Rooms 22, including eight suites. Rates €700-€2,700, including buffet breakfast, tea, coffee, soft minibar drinks, fruit and cakes, and VAT.

Jardins Secrets, Nîmes, France
Minimalists, look away now. This fabric-festooned French hideaway in this history-rich Languedoc-Roussillon city drips romance: from the song birds in the walled garden to the turquoise plunge pool and pretty courtyard and hammam. Rooms 14, including seven suites. Rates €195-€380, not including breakfast, €25.

Schlosshotel im Grunewald, Berlin, Germany
A 'palace' in an upscale residential district built a century ago by the Kaiser, then a hotel zhuzhed-up by Karl Lagerfeld in the Eighties. Traces of the flamboyant designer are just visible, but this grown-up getaway’s contemporary sophistication comes care of new owner, Spanish hotelier, Alma. Rooms 53, including 10 suites. Rates €239-€399, including VAT; excludes buffet breakfast at €26.

Mirabó de Valldemossa, Mallorca
Once a 16th-century hilltop olive farm, now a chic family-run retreat with soul-stirring views across to the charming village of Valldemossa. Low-key but deluxe in look and feel, and intimate but discreet in atmosphere, we say book this Balearic bolt hole’s vista-rich standalone suite El Porche de las Ovejas. Rooms Nine, including one suite. Rates €140-€360, including buffet breakfast and tax.

More on the 2010 Hot List:
I stopped by the Today Show Monday to talk about some of Condé Nast Traveler's favorite new openings

Due to popular demand (and because I wouldn't want you to think all I did in Mexico last week was eat), here are some photos I took of Oaxaca's colorful colonial streets and the jacaranda framed Santo Domingo church (with the chap in the hat in the foreground).

The conquistadors came to Oaxaca hoping to find gold and silver. Instead, they found the cochineal bugs, which produced a scarlet pigment that the Aztecs and Mayans had used for millennia. Dubbed 'red gold', it became the region's biggest export, and helped fund Oaxaca's thick-set, volcano defying houses and many churches. It's still used by the city's textile industry, and, since natural dyes are back in vogue, many in Oaxaca are crossing their fingers for another bug boom.