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Japan is widely known for its big cities, but it’s also a destination that offers countless opportunities to get away from it all in some of the most remote and picturesque settings – far from the grind of daily life. From the country’s rural inlands to its smaller far-flung islands and coastal regions, here are some of the best locations to experience Japan’s unique blend of serene natural beauty and traditional culture.
(Kagoshima Prefecture)
Situated off the southern coast of Kyushu, Yakushima Island is a UNESCO World Heritage Site known for its subtropical rainforest climate, lush coastal vegetation, and ancient Yakusugi cedar forests. The island is home to some of the oldest trees in Japan, with the gigantic Jomon Sugi cedar tree – estimated to be over 2,000 years old – being one of the island’s most popular trees to visit to marvel at its incredible size.
With its unspoilt landscapes stretching from Yakushima’s subtropical coast to inland forests, the island offers the perfect place to enjoy off-grid adventures including hiking forest trails up to mountain peaks and visiting the picturesque Shiratani Unsuikyo Ravine. You’ll also discover waterfalls around the island including Oko Falls which plunges from the forests above into a natural pool.
(Hokkaido)
Jutting into the Sea of Okhotsk in eastern Hokkaido, the Shiretoko Peninsula is renowned for its rugged coastline wilderness where you’ll find diverse wildlife and spectacular landscapes. The Shiretoko National Park is set in the mountains and cliffs of the northeastern tip of the peninsula and attracts visitors for its range of scenic activities and wildlife encounters.
Against the backdrop of the Shiretoko mountain range, you can stroll along the boardwalks of the Shiretoko Goko Lakes – a collective of five small lakes with calm mirror-like waters, join a boat cruise to enjoy brown bear spotting and seal watching along the coast, and if you’re visiting in winter, you might even try a drift ice walk or boat tour.
With its thermal waters cascading into natural pools, Kamuiwakka Falls offers a unique remote onsen experience in the forest, while the small towns of Rausu and Utoro are great places to visit to enjoy the freshly caught seafood the region is so well known for.
(Shimane Prefecture)
Located 60km off the coast of Shimane Prefecture and formed by volcanic activity millions of years ago, the four main islands of the Oki Islands offer dramatic coastal scenery and rugged volcanic landscapes. Hiking is a popular activity, especially along the Kuniga Coast on Nishinoshima Island. Kuniga Coast is visited for its towering cliffs, magnificent rock formations, and crystal-clear waters, while the Tsutenkyo Arch is one of the coastline’s most iconic scenic spots.
Other highlights of a visit to the Oki Islands Geopark include sunset views over Dogo Island, which is also home to Dangyo Shrine and Dangyo Falls, and Nakanoshima Island’s rice fields, red cliffs and Cape Kirogasaki Lighthouse. With its extraordinary biodiversity, you can enjoy a range of activities around these sparsely populated islands including swimming, snorkelling, kayaking, fishing, and scuba diving.
(Nagano Prefecture)
Kamikochi is a remote mountainous valley in the Hida Mountains in western Nagano Prefecture and part of the Japan Alps. The valley is especially known for its 15-kilometre-long plateau which follows the Azusa River offering a great location for walks along the river or upwards to explore the diverse flora and fauna higher in the mountains.
In this valley that delivers beautiful ever-changing scenery throughout the seasons, visit Kappa Bridge – an iconic wooden suspension bridge – for views of the Azusa River, and the Hotaka Range which includes Japan’s third highest peak, Mt Hotaka, and the active volcano of Mt Yakedake. Hikes to the clear reflective waters of Myojin Pond and Taisho Pond are also a must to experience a truly serene natural environment, while you might take the rare opportunity to try snowshoeing in winter.
(Okinawa Prefecture)
Part of the Yaeyama Islands, Iriomote Island is largely within the Iriomote-Ishigaki National Park offering an idyllic location for an off-the-beaten-path jungle adventure, contrasting the colder climes of Japan. The island is sparsely populated and filled with dense inland jungles and mangrove forests, especially along the Urauchi River and Nakama River.
Imagine hiking jungle trails to hidden waterfalls including the journey to Pinaisara Falls – the highest waterfall in Okinawa – and kayaking or stand up paddleboarding through the mangroves along the meandering rivers. With Iriomote Island surrounded by white sand beaches and coral reefs, the island is also an excellent location for snorkelling and diving to see marine life including tropical fish and turtles in the clear waters.
Far flung from Japan’s sprawling cities, this sparsely populated island also offers the opportunity to connect with traditional Okinawan culture through local music and cuisine featuring tropical ingredients and fresh seafood. Guided tours of the island are available to experience the best of Iriomote Island’s unique ecosystems and local culture.
(Kansai Region)
Spanning the three prefectures of Mie, Nara, and Wakayama, Kii Peninsula is renowned for being a spiritual hub and one of the most naturally stunning locations in Japan – home to a great many scenic treasures and sights of spiritual and cultural significance. While its rural areas are dotted with ancient temples, forests, and onsen, you’ll also discover a network of ancient pilgrimage trails known as oshi Kodo that journey through incredible forests and lead to the three sacred shrines of Kumano Hongu Taisha, Kumano Nachi Taisha, and Kumano Hayatama Taisha.
For an immersive off-grid experience, visit the mountaintop temple complex of Koyasan which offers temple lodgings (shukubo) where you can learn about Buddhist practices and enjoy meditation and wholesome meals with fresh produce. Plunging 133 metres, one of Japan’s most famous waterfalls, Nachi Falls, can also be found on the Kii Peninsula, part of the Kumano Nachi Shrine complex. Meanwhile, you can experience one of Japan’s oldest hot springs, Yunomine Onsen, or explore the Yoshino-Kumano National Park for hiking trails through forests, rivers, and scenic coastlines featuring cliffs and sea caves.
You know those moments when you’re sitting at your desk, staring out the window, daydreaming about throwing your phone into the ocean and disappearing to a tropical island? Well, what if I told you that you can actually disappear on the ocean? Enter Anthenea—the floating eco-pod of your wildest, most futuristic fantasies.
Anthenea’s pods aren’t just the stuff of Instagram dreams; they’re full-blown James Bond lair meets Robinson Crusoe getaway. These circular, UFO-shaped floating suites are designed to be a luxury escape, completely off the grid, where you can bask in the middle of the ocean with no Wi-Fi to suck you back to reality. And when I say floating, I don’t mean “parked at the dock in some marina.” Nope. You’re truly on the water, floating off the coast of some secret South Pacific island like a villain in a spy movie (but eco-friendly, of course).
The Pod Life: Floating Luxury Meets Sustainability
Let’s break it down: the Anthenea pod is basically a mini eco-friendly spaceship—complete with solar panels, 360-degree ocean views, and sleek interiors that would make a Scandinavian designer cry with joy. With a lounge area, a bedroom fit for lounging like royalty, and even a rooftop terrace for all your sunbathing and sundowner needs, it’s got the works. And it’s completely sustainable. That’s right—your ultra-luxe, floating abode is powered by the sun, with zero impact on the ocean around you.
Picture this: You wake up to the sound of the ocean gently lapping against your pod (because, obviously, the ocean is your backyard). You step out onto your private deck, coffee in hand, and watch as the sun starts its lazy climb over the horizon. Maybe there’s a dolphin or two in the distance. Or maybe it’s just you and the endless blue. Either way, you’re living a life where time doesn’t exist and stress is a concept you can’t even remember.
A South Pacific Hideaway: Secret, Secluded, and Absolutely Unreal
Now, imagine one of these Anthenea pods nestled in the middle of a secret lagoon somewhere in the South Pacific—so secret, it doesn’t even show up on Google Maps (which, frankly, only adds to the allure). You’re miles away from civilization, surrounded by nothing but turquoise water, coral reefs, and the odd turtle gliding by. Forget swanky island resorts with other people—this is pure, unadulterated isolation at its finest.
You want to snorkel? Just roll out of bed and drop into the water from your pod. You want to sunbathe in total privacy? Head to the rooftop and stretch out on the lounge chairs, with not a single human in sight. And when night falls? Crack open a bottle of wine, look up at the stars, and marvel at the fact that you’ve managed to escape the endless grind of the real world in a floating, sci-fi inspired hideaway. Oh, and don’t worry about leaving your beloved Earth in worse shape—Anthenea pods are 100% eco-friendly, so you can feel good about living your best deserted island fantasy without wrecking the environment.
The Future of Travel?
If this all sounds a little too “out there,” just wait. These floating eco-pods are the future of travel—and not just because they look like they came straight out of a sci-fi flick. With their minimal environmental impact, sleek design, and ability to go totally off-grid, Anthenea pods are redefining what it means to truly get lost. In a world where “luxury” often means crowded resorts and Instagrammers fighting for the same poolside shot, Anthenea is a breath of fresh, salty air. No crowds, no schedules—just you, the ocean, and the infinite horizon.
If you’ve ever dreamed of escaping the chaos of everyday life to a remote tropical island where Wi-Fi signals can’t reach you and your biggest decision is whether to swim or snorkel, Dryft Camp on Darocotan Island should be your next stop. Touted as the number one glamping resort in the Philippines, this slice of paradise is less a resort and more an immersive island experience, where “roughing it” feels gloriously refined.
Getting to Darocotan Island isn’t exactly seamless, and thank god for that. You’ll first make your way to El Nido, where a local boat will whisk you away to the island. The 30-minute ride might just be the perfect time to say goodbye to emails, notifications, and that frantic urban energy you didn’t realize had been clinging to you until now. Instead, you’re greeted by the sight of pristine beaches, crystal-clear waters, and the complete absence of, well, pretty much everything. It’s just you, the ocean, and a few bamboo huts scattered along the shore.
Forget your standard glamping setup with a tent plopped down somewhere next to a road. At Dryft Camp, glamping is an art form. The handcrafted bamboo huts and bell tents offer a level of rustic luxury that screams Robinson Crusoe, but with better Instagram lighting. There’s a certain wild elegance here—the tents come with actual beds, linens so soft you’ll question every pillowcase you’ve ever owned, and private outdoor bathrooms that let you shower under the stars. Sure, there’s no air-conditioning, but trust me, a breeze off the Pacific beats any fan, and nothing says “I’ve made it” quite like a cold shower after a long day of swimming.
It’s hard to describe just how liberating it is to be totally off the grid. At Dryft, your phone becomes irrelevant—there’s no Wi-Fi and zero cell signal. But here’s the thing: you won’t miss it. Not once. Instead of doom-scrolling, you’ll spend your days snorkeling in the nearby reefs, kayaking around the island, or chilling in one of the hammocks scattered along the beach. If you’re feeling particularly ambitious (and hydrated), you can even sign up for a spear-fishing trip with the local fishermen, an activity that’s as badass as it sounds. And let’s talk sunsets. They’re the kind that make you feel guilty for having ever spent a golden hour indoors. As the sun dips into the ocean, grab a beer or a fresh coconut, and take it all in—there’s nothing quite like a Darocotan sunset to remind you why people leave everything behind to live on islands like this.
The best part? Dryft Camp isn’t just about aesthetic goals. It’s built around sustainability. The resort is 100% solar-powered, and everything from the composting toilets to the locally sourced meals is designed to minimize impact on the environment. You can stuff your face with delicious seafood, knowing it’s fresh off the boat and as eco-friendly as your bamboo hut.
When night falls, the vibe shifts. The campfire gets going, drinks flow, and you can hear the sounds of the island come alive—waves crashing, the breeze rustling through the palms, and the occasional guitar strum. If you’re lucky, someone will pull out a ukulele and you’ll find yourself singing along with other guests, all of whom have the same glazed-over, blissed-out expression of island-induced euphoria.
Sure, Dryft Camp might not be for everyone. If you need air conditioning, round-the-clock room service, or a five-star spa, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you’re after an authentic island escape, where the luxury is in the experience and not the thread count, this place is a dream. It’s the kind of spot that lingers in your memory long after your tan fades and you’ve returned to the chaos of real life.
If your idea of a vacation is sipping cocktails by the pool, I’m going to stop you right there. The Gaucho Derby isn’t for the faint-hearted—or anyone who values comfort, sanity, or consistent access to Wi-Fi. Nope, this is for the wild ones, the adventurers, the slightly unhinged thrill-seekers who think “fun” involves galloping across Argentina’s untamed wilderness on horseback for 500 kilometers. Brought to you by The Equestrianists (a group of people who clearly enjoy combining horses with questionable life choices), the Gaucho Derby is like the love child of the Mongol Derby and an Argentinian rodeo. It’s an epic, multi-day test of endurance, horsemanship, and whether or not you’ve got the grit to survive Patagonia’s ever-shifting moods. Think scorching sun, freezing nights, treacherous mountain passes, and rivers that look like they could swallow a small boat. Oh, and did I mention the wild horses? 
The Horsepower of the Pampas The event kicks off in the shadow of the Andes, where you and a motley crew of fellow lunatics (sorry, “riders”) are given your trusty steed. Now, these aren’t your average ponies—they’re hardy, sure-footed criollo horses that have been bred for generations to handle the toughest terrains with ease. And you’re going to need that because, spoiler alert: the route changes every year, and no one—not even the organizers—really knows what kind of hell Mother Nature’s going to throw at you. Your job? Ride. Navigate. Survive. Repeat. You’ll be covering around 100 kilometers a day, which sounds exhausting because, well, it is. But when you’re racing across sweeping plains, dipping into valleys straight out of a Nat Geo spread, or dodging the odd Andean condor, you won’t care about your aching backside. (Okay, maybe a little.) 
Who Needs GPS? One of the best things about the Gaucho Derby? It’s designed to mess with you. GPS? Forget it. This isn’t a road trip with your dad shouting directions from the passenger seat. You’re on your own here, armed with a map, a compass, and whatever survival skills you’ve picked up from watching Bear Grylls reruns. Each night, you’ll either bunk down in a gaucho village, where you can swap stories over a cup of mate, or camp under the stars. Don’t expect gourmet meals, but if you’re lucky, you might score some traditional asado (Argentinian BBQ), which—let’s be honest—is worth the pain of a full day in the saddle. And when you’re not cursing the landscape or wondering why you signed up for this, you’ll have moments of pure, unfiltered awe. The kind that comes when you crest a ridge and see the wild expanse of Patagonia unfold before you. Or when you realize your horse knows this land better than any GPS ever could. Or when you share a silent moment with your four-legged partner, feeling like you’re part of something timeless and ancient. 
Gaucho Life Isn’t for the Weak Now, if you’re thinking, “But what if I fall off?” Don’t worry. You will. And it’ll hurt. But this isn’t about how many times you hit the dirt; it’s about how many times you get back in the saddle. That’s the spirit of the gaucho, after all—tough, relentless, and always ready for the next challenge. You’ll be competing against some of the most skilled and determined riders in the world. But really, the Gaucho Derby is less about beating the competition and more about conquering yourself. It’s about pushing your limits, trusting your horse, and finding out what you’re made of when the chips are down, and you’re miles from civilization. 
The Finish Line: Worth Every Bruise By the time you stumble across the finish line—dusty, sore, and probably wondering if you’ll ever walk normally again—you’ll realize you’ve just completed one of the most intense, incredible, and borderline insane experiences of your life. The Gaucho Derby isn’t just a race. It’s a testament to the raw, untamable beauty of Patagonia, the enduring partnership between horse and rider, and the indomitable spirit of the adventurers brave enough to tackle it. So, if you’re ready to swap your beach towel for a saddle, your cocktail for a cup of mate, and your holiday for the adventure of a lifetime—saddle up. The Gaucho Derby is calling. And trust me, it’ll be one wild ride.
Ah, Japan—the land of sushi, samurai, and, of course, steaming hot springs known as onsen.
Picture this: you’re in a natural, mineral-rich bath, surrounded by serene mountains, with nothing but the scent of sulfur in the air. But before you go stripping down and jumping in, there’s a whole list of do’s, don’ts, and “please don’t even think about its” to navigate. So, here’s your irreverent guide to onsen etiquette, tattoos, and why skinship isn’t nearly as creepy as it sounds.
Let’s start with the basics. Sento vs. onsen—one’s a regular bathhouse with plain old heated water, and the other’s the real deal with natural, mineral-packed goodness. You’ll want the latter. Some places even slap on the word tennen (meaning “natural”) just to remind you that yes, this is the real hot spring experience.
Staying overnight? Many onsen are attached to traditional inns called ryokan, which is basically your ticket to sleeping on the floor (in a good way) and eating food that you can’t pronounce. These places often throw in onsen access as part of the deal. Whether you’re a day-tripper or overnight guest, expect to cough up a fee, but it’s worth it for that blissful soak.
Now, let’s talk rotenburo—open-air baths that let you enjoy the great outdoors while you marinate in hot water. Some even offer yukimi (snow-watching) onsen, where you can pretend you’re in a postcard while freezing your bits off in the name of relaxation. And for those who don’t fancy baring it all in public, there are private onsen (kashikiri) where you can splash around in peace without judgmental stares.
So, here’s the deal: no clothes in the onsen. Seriously, none. You’ll be given a teeny towel that’s more symbolic than functional, and you’re supposed to wash up before even thinking about dipping a toe in that sacred water. We’re talking a full-on scrub-down, like you’re about to perform surgery. Shampoo, soap, conditioner—it’s all there. And if you’ve got long hair, tie it up, because no one wants your split ends floating by.
Once you’re clean, slide into the onsen like a pro, but keep that towel out of the water. It’s bad manners to dunk it, and frankly, it’s just gross. Pro tip: Don’t stay in too long or you’ll end up more prune than person. And while it might be tempting to sneak in a sake, food and drink are a big no-no. You don’t want to be the person who passes out in the bath, do you?
Ah, tattoos. In Japan, they’re not just body art—they’re often linked to the yakuza, which is not the look you’re going for while soaking in a hot spring. Some onsen are still strict about their no-tattoo policies, so don’t be surprised if you get turned away.
To avoid the walk of shame, check the tattoo policy before you go. If your ink is on the smaller side, you can always slap on a tattoo cover, which you can pick up at stores like Don Quijote. But if you’re rocking a full sleeve, your best bet is a private onsen, where you can bathe without worry. Or, find a tattoo-friendly onsen (yes, they exist!), and soak away without a care in the world.
So, there you have it—your irreverent guide to enjoying Japan’s onsen without making a cultural faux pas. Now strip down, scrub up, and soak in the experience like a local. Just don’t forget to leave your modesty (and your clothes) at the door.
“You’re going in there alone,” she declares, eyeing the entrance like it’s the gateway to hell. She’s got a point. Rats aren’t exactly the kind of creatures you’d expect to be welcomed into an air-conditioned building with fanfare. But here in Siem Reap, these rats are more celebrated than the Kardashians at a Botox convention.
Inside, I’m greeted by a friendly guide who starts telling me about the heroics of a little rodent named Magawa. Now, if you’ve ever thought your cat was impressive for bringing you a dead bird, let me tell you, Magawa makes Garfield look like a slacker. This rat—who, mind you, weighed in at a hefty 1.5 kg—sniffed out nearly 150,000 landmines in his career. Yes, you heard that correctly. One rat. 150,000 explosives. Suddenly, my lack of interest in doing laundry feels a little less forgivable.
I’m led to a small observation area where the HeroRats do their thing. The guide, with the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loves their job, explains how these rats are trained. “These are African giant pouched rats from Tanzania,” she says, leading me toward the training area. “They’re light enough that they won’t set off landmines, but they have an incredible sense of smell. They’re trained to detect TNT, and when they do, they scratch at the ground to let us know they’ve found something.”
It’s not like they’re out there defusing bombs with tiny wire cutters; they’re not James Bond in fur coats. Instead, they’re using their incredible sense of smell to detect TNT in landmines, earning their breakfast one sniff at a time.
I’m watching one of these little rats named Ratana go to work. Ratana’s sniffing around, stopping every now and then like he’s just caught a whiff of something interesting. And when he finds a landmine? He scratches at the ground, signaling his human handler to step in and deal with the nasty little surprise buried underneath. It’s like the world’s most dangerous game of hide-and-seek, and these rats are undefeated champions.
My guide tells me about the impact these rats have had on landmine detection in countries like Cambodia. They’ve saved countless lives by clearing areas that were once no-go zones. And while traditional methods of mine detection are slow and expensive, these rats are getting the job done quicker and cheaper. Who knew that something so tiny could have such a huge impact? It’s enough to make you rethink every bad thing you’ve ever said about rats.
Meanwhile, I can’t help but imagine what my wife is doing outside. Probably Googling “Rats in Siem Reap” and ordering an industrial-strength can of Raid for when I get back. But she’s missing out. Because as much as rats might give her the creeps, these HeroRats are absolute legends. The GOAT of rats, Magawa even received a medal for his life-saving bravery!
As I leave the Centre, I find my wife standing a good 50 feet from the entrance, arms crossed and foot tapping. “So, how was it?” she asks, still clearly not sold on the whole idea of rat heroics.
“Incredible,” I say, trying to downplay the fact that I’m a little starstruck by a rodent. “You missed out on meeting the rat equivalent of Superman.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll take your word for it. But if you start bringing rats home as pets, we’re going to have a problem.”
Fair enough. But as we walk away from the APOPO Centre, I can’t help but think about the lives these rats have saved and continue to save. They might not be the cuddliest creatures around, but they’re doing a job that’s both vital and dangerous. And if that doesn’t earn them a bit of respect, I don’t know what does.
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The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK), otherwise known as North Korea, were the first country to close its doors due to the COVID pandemic. Now, almost five years later, they’ve just re-opened, allowing the tourists to flock to the traditional travel hotspot known for its nightlife and freedom of expression.
Chinese tour companies have begun operating there once again, with tours available to people from pretty much all nationalities, as long as it is through one of those selected companies.
We at get lost predict one day, probably in the very distant future, North Korea will have its travel boom. Travellers will be curious to go – borrowing a term from 1989 – ‘behind the curtain’, and discover life in this mysterious hermit country. Volcanic mountains and decent ski/snowboarding are top of the list, and the very few who have visited have spoken about a cuisine completely untouched by western influence.
But that all would need to wait until the Kim dynasty finishes up, which doesn’t look like happening any time soon.
The Australian Department of Foreign Affairs (DFAT) Smart Traveller website has a “do not travel” note in place for North Korea. get lost is all for travel to far-flung places, but we agree with this warning – travel to North Korea is still under extremely tight restrictions, and any money that goes into a tour goes toward supporting an oppressive, totalitarian dictatorship.
1. Jeans are illegal. Everywhere. Leave your Levis and Dejours at home.
2.Construction of the Ryugyong Hotel, the 1,080 foot pyramid-shaped skyscraper which dominates Pyongyang’s skyline began in in August 1987. It has never been finished. The North Korean Government is allegedly looking to turn it into a casino.
3. The Masikryong Ski Resort is the country’s first ski resort, and supposedly has some pretty decent slopes. The resort, which we visited about 10 years ago, has been described as a “prestigious propaganda project for the regime.”
4. Paektu Mountain, shared with China, is the country’s highest point. It last erupted in 1903.
5. Air Koryo is the country’s official, and only, commercial airline.
Marysville is known as base camp for the winter wonderland that is Lake Mountain, but under the snow another layer of adventures.
We’re only an hour out of Melbourne when it starts. My shoulders drop, my breaths get longer, and the phone signal gets patchy. We’re on our way to Marysville for a cheeky mid-week adventure and I can feel my stress levels evaporating.
We pass through Healesville, which may now be on the urban fringe but is still pretty enough to hint at what’s to come. The scenery changes to paddocks and wineries and then, the biggest signal of all that we are nearing our destination, we hit the Black Spur. A crazy twisting ribbon of a road flanked by lush tree ferns and Mountain Ash trees that are old enough and tall enough to have you question your own mortality.
Then we turn into the picture-book cute township of Marysville, nestled in the Yarra Valley and surrounded by the stunning mountains of The Great Dividing Range.
For countless Victorians, Marysville is where they had their first taste of snow. It’s the closest town to Lake Mountain Alpine Resort, which offers snow play and toboggan runs as well as more than 30 kilometres of cross-country skiing and snowshoe trails.
But while hordes descend on the town during the winter months, it’s the shoulder season that I’m here for, because there’s more to this place than snow. From winding hikes through silver wattle and snow gum forested hills to challenging mountain bike trails — Marysville is an adventure playground.
The drive to the top of Lake Mountain is, ironically, much more chill without the winter hordes. Not so the route down, if you take on the challenge of the darling of the mountain bike runs, Cascades Trail. The 25km trail from the summit to the township involves a 1,442m descent that is dotted with rocks, wooden walkways, jumps and sharp turns.
Less experienced riders do have other, less gnarly options, including Kestrel Loop, an easy 2km ride and the bike adventures aren’t restricted to Lake Mountain. There are picturesque routes for road cyclists leaving from town, and an offshoot of the 134km Great Victorian Rail Trail begins in nearby Alexandra.
Then there are the hikes. From Lake Mountain, you can snatch incredible vistas of the township and the Cathedral Ranges. You’ll walk past snow gums, dainty alpine mint bushes in full bloom, and perky blue green native grasses.
Or hike the picturesque trail from town through the forests to Steavenson’s Falls to earn a stunning view of the 84-metre-high waterfall. The stream is so strong that it is able, via its own small hydroelectric plant, to power the lights that illuminate it from dusk each evening – it’s worth the nighttime return visit.
Where the forest’s native vegetation eschew autumnal colours, the township’s maples and pin oakes embrace them, and the sight of the trees’ autumn shades makes for such a stunning picture, it can be dangerous – on the outskirts of town, Gould Memorial Drive is famed for its poplar trees, with the leaves an insta-worthy sight in autumn. Tourists regularly ignore the 100kmph signs as they stand in the middle on the road to take the perfect shot.
We get our pics, safely, then retreat to the luxury of the 100-room Peppers Marysville hotel—because adventure and luxury make very comfy bedfellows.
Now owned by the Accor Group, the hotel was one of the first big projects to be funded in the aftermath of the 2009 bushfires that devastated the town, and it makes a statement that Marysville, population 500, punches well above its weight. Taking up a large chunk of the main street, the newly renovated hotel offers the region’s largest conference centre, restaurant and bar, day spa, tennis court, heated lap pool, gym and sauna.
Our corner suite is divine. It has a large living area with sliding glass doors to the balcony with views of the mountains. A bottle of red wine is waiting, along with a platter with cheese and grapes, which is a pretty perfect way to end the day’s activities.
Peppers has catering to adventurers nailed. It has a hot water bike wash station and secure bike workshops for repairs or servicing for cyclists. In winter, families can snag a carrot to take up the mountain to make an authentic snowman and take advantage of an early dinner sitting to cater for exhausted children.
But for adults, the real sweeteners are the heavenly facials and massages available at the dreamy day spa (thanks Phil) and delicious seasonal meals at Andiamo Restaurant and Bar, where the menu’s offerings, including a two-hour braised lamb ragu with rigatoni, tomato and parmesan cheese, firmly hint at Chef Francesco La Mazza’s Italian training. The stone baked pizzas melt in your mouth, and I would recommend sitting around the outdoor firepit, savouring the smell of woodsmoke whilst indulging in a perfectly mixed cocktail or two (espresso martini anyone?).
So, when the leaves are turning and the air is just crisp enough to be invigorating, rather than icy, consider a trip to Marysville. I’ll be at the bar.
For instance, you might decide that Bloody Marys make an acceptable breakfast, or that horseback riding in sub-zero temperatures is a smart idea. Or—and I’m just throwing this out there—you might find yourself clinging to a sheet of ice at Fish Creek Falls, wondering if you’ve finally lost the plot entirely. Welcome to my list of the most epic things to do in Steamboat Springs this winter.
The weekend trip all starts innocently enough. We roll into Steamboat Springs, and I’m immediately struck by how postcard-perfect everything looks. Snow-dusted trees, cozy cabins, and that crisp, mountain air that makes you feel like you’re in a Hallmark movie—only with more opportunities to injure yourself.
Our first stop? Breakfast. And by breakfast, I mean a Bloody Mary that could double as a garden salad. We stroll into a little joint off Lincoln Avenue where the Bloody Marys are legendary. And by legendary, I mean they come with a side of sausage, pickles, and whatever else they can skewer onto a toothpick.
The first sip hits like a cold shower after a night out, which is to say it’s both terrifying and exactly what I need. The spice kicks in, my eyes water, and before I know it, I’m on my second one, convinced that this is how all great ski days begin. With our bellies (and blood alcohol levels) sufficiently primed, we head for the slopes.
Steamboat’s known for its “Champagne Powder,” which is essentially snow so perfect it makes you wonder why you don’t ski more often. The answer, as I quickly discover, is because skiing is hard, and I’m not as coordinated as I like to pretend.
We start with a few runs on the easy slopes to warm up. By “we,” I mean everyone else, while I spend most of my time getting reacquainted with the ground. It’s like the snow has a personal vendetta against me, and I’m losing the fight. But the thing about Steamboat is that even when you’re eating snow, you’re having the time of your life. There’s something about the place—the blue skies, the endless runs, the fact that everyone around you seems to be having a blast—that makes you want to keep going, even when your legs are screaming for mercy.
After a few hours, I’m actually starting to get the hang of it. Or at least, I’m falling less frequently, which feels like progress. But just as I’m starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, I could actually be good at this, I take a spill that sends me tumbling like a poorly constructed snowman. Time to try something less likely to result in injury.
Enter Ray Heid, the kind of cowboy who looks like he was carved out of the same rock that built the mountains around here. He runs Del’s Triangle 3 Ranch, and today, he’s taking us on a horseback ride through the snow-covered Yampa Valley.
Ray is the real deal, with a mustache that could star in its own western. He greets us with a grin that suggests he’s seen more winters than he cares to count and survived them all. We saddle up, and Ray starts telling stories—about the old days, about the cattle drives, about the time he took on a grizzly with nothing but a lasso and some frontier bravado. The man is a walking legend.
Riding through the valley is like stepping into a painting. The snow blankets everything, muffling the world until all you hear is the crunch of hooves and Ray’s voice, steady as a drumbeat. The horses navigate the icy trails with ease, and I start to relax, thinking that maybe, for once, I’ve chosen an activity that won’t end with me face-planting into snow.
But the Yampa Valley has other ideas. The trail gets steeper, the snow deeper, and suddenly I’m holding on for dear life, trying to look cool while secretly praying I don’t slide off into a snowbank. Ray, of course, just chuckles. This is nothing to him—a walk in the park. For me, it’s a reminder that I’m a city slicker playing at cowboy, and the mountains have no mercy.
The next morning, still riding high on a cocktail of adrenaline and cowboy tales, I make the questionable decision to try ice climbing at Fish Creek Falls. “How hard can it be?” I tell myself, conveniently forgetting that I’ve never climbed anything more challenging than a ladder.
Fish Creek Falls is stunning—a frozen waterfall that looks like something out of Narnia. But as I stare up at the wall of ice, it hits me: this might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s too late to back out, so I strap on the crampons, grab my ice axes, and start climbing.
The first few feet are fine—exciting, even. But then I look down. Big mistake. My legs turn to jelly, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m clinging to a frozen waterfall with nothing but a few sharp objects keeping me from certain doom. My guide, who’s apparently part mountain goat, shouts encouragement, “Sit back on your feet!” he yells. Trust the crampons!” But all I can think is, “If I survive this, I’m getting another Bloody Mary.”
By some miracle (and a lot of panicked kicking), I make it to the top. My heart is pounding, my hands are numb, and I’m fairly certain I’ll never do this again. But the view from up there is worth it—snow-covered peaks stretching out in every direction, the valley below like a postcard come to life. For a moment, I forget the terror and just soak it all in, wondering how stunning it must be in summer when Fish Creek isn’t frozen. Then I remember I have to get down.
Related: Three big days in Denver
Back in town, I’m more than ready for dinner. We head to Mazzola’s, a local Italian spot known for its bison lasagne. I’ve had a lot of lasagne in my time, but this? This is something else. Rich, hearty, and with just the right amount of bison to remind you you’re in the wilds of Colorado, it’s the perfect end to a day of near-death adventures.
But the night’s not over yet. Steamboat has a surprisingly vibrant craft beer scene, and we’re not leaving without sampling the goods. We hit up Mountain Tap Brewery first, where the beers are cold, the atmosphere is warm, and I’m quickly falling in love with a pint of their Cliffed Out Imperial Stout. At 8.5% it more than warms my heart. Next is Storm Peak Brewing, where the IPAs are hoppy, the conversation is lively, and I’m starting to wonder how I’ll ever go back to regular life after this.
The next morning, sore but satisfied, I find myself back at that same breakfast spot, ordering another Bloody Mary. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned on this trip, it’s that Steamboat Springs is a place where you can push yourself to the limit—whether it’s on the slopes, on a horse, or on a sheet of ice—and still find the time to kick back with a drink in hand, laughing at the insanity of it all.
So here’s to Steamboat Springs: where the adventures are wild, the food is hearty, and the Bloody Marys are the perfect way to start—and end—your day.
“Hey Daddy, we love Vegas more than Disneyland!” Charlie shouts, her voice echoing off the glittering lights of the Strip. My heart skips a beat, but not from the usual panic of hearing my child shout in public. No, this time it’s from the realization that my 11-year-old daughter just ranked Las Vegas—a city known for its booze, blackjack, and bad decisions—above the happiest place on Earth (damn, I’m proud). In honour of this baffling occasion, here’s a list of the best things to do in Las Vegas with kids.
We’re standing in front of the newly refurbished Sahara Hotel, our home for the next few days, and Charlie’s practically vibrating with excitement. And why wouldn’t she be? We’re about to spend a weekend in the same place where Elvis himself once crooned and karate-chopped his way into history. The Sahara has been given a fresh face, but you can still feel the ghosts of the Rat Pack lounging by the pool, probably judging us for bringing kids to Vegas.
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Our first stop on the Jamieson Vegas Adventure is Area 15, a place that defies explanation, logic, and probably a few building codes.
Imagine a warehouse-sized acid trip, and you’re getting close. As we step inside, Molly (14) immediately tries to pretend she’s too cool for all this, but I catch her sneaking glances at the towering neon structures and psychedelic art installations. Parker (12) is wide-eyed, her brain no doubt plotting the best way to climb something she’s not supposed to, and Charlie is just…well, Charlie. She’s loving every second.
We head straight for Omega Mart, the flagship attraction that looks like a regular supermarket if you’ve had one too many margaritas. The girls scatter as soon as we enter, each of them drawn to a different brand of weirdness. I lose track of Parker almost immediately, and I’m fairly certain she’s found a secret tunnel that leads to Narnia or possibly a rave. Molly is too busy snapping photos of bizarre products—think “Plaque Buildup” in a can and something called “Whale Song Antiperspirant”—to notice me trying to get her attention. And Charlie, bless her Elvis-loving heart, is convinced she’s discovered a portal to another dimension behind the dairy aisle.
Hours later, we emerge from Omega Mart, slightly dazed and wholly entertained. My wife gives me a look that says, “This better not have awakened anything in them,” while I silently pray that no one brings up living in a parallel universe for their next science project.
Next on our agenda is the High Roller, the world’s largest observation wheel. That’s right, we’re about to climb into a giant glass hamster ball and spin 550 feet above the city. I’m not exactly thrilled at the prospect, but the girls are all for it. Parker leads the charge, practically dragging us into the pod before the doors can close on her enthusiasm.
As we ascend, the view of the Strip sprawls out beneath us like a giant game board. Molly has her phone out, snapping away like she’s on assignment for National Geographic, while Parker and Charlie press their faces against the glass, arguing over who can spot the weirdest thing down below. I, meanwhile, am clutching the safety rail with one hand and pretending to be cool with the other.
It’s hard to stay grumpy when the city lights up around us. Even I have to admit, it’s pretty spectacular. By the time we reach the top, the girls are already planning their next spin, and I’m trying to think of a plausible excuse to stay grounded.
What’s a trip to Vegas without some hockey? That’s right, we’re off to see the Las Vegas Golden Knights in action. Now, I’m no hockey expert, but I can appreciate a good brawl on ice as much as the next guy. The girls are pumped, and I’m just hoping no one loses a tooth.
We enter the arena, and it’s like walking into a rock concert. The energy is electric, and the pre-game show is pure Vegas—pyrotechnics, thumping music, and a knight on horseback slaying a dragon. Molly and Parker are on their feet, cheering along with the crowd, and even Charlie is getting into it, though she keeps asking if the knight knows any Elvis songs.
The game itself is fast, furious, and everything I didn’t know I needed. The girls are screaming for the Knights, my wife is clapping along, and I’m wondering how I’m going to explain the merchandise bill when we leave. But honestly? It’s worth it. We leave the arena with hoarse voices, empty wallets, and new Golden Knights jerseys.
Related: Vegas’s biggest thrill
But the real highlight of the trip, especially for Charlie, is Big Elvis at Harrah’s. We’ve been hearing about this performance for weeks, ever since Charlie stumbled across a youtube video a few weeks before our trip. I warn Charlie not to expect Austin Butler. Harrah’s is a bit of a time capsule itself, and as we walk through the casino, I can almost feel the ghost of Elvis winking at us from the slot machines.
We grab seats at the lounge, and Charlie is practically bouncing in her chair.
When Big Elvis finally takes the microphone, dressed in a jumpsuit that could double as a disco ball, Charlie’s jaw drops. He launches into “Hound Dog,” and she’s gone—totally, utterly in awe of the King regardless of his size (Big Elvis is so big he sits on a thrown to perform). By the time he gets to “Suspicious Minds,” she’s singing along, and I’m trying to ignore the look on my wife’s face that says, “How much Elvis is too much?”
Big Elvis dedicates “Can’t Help Falling in Love” to Charlie, who looks like she might actually faint. I’ve never seen her this happy, and as we leave Harrah’s, she’s clutching an autographed photo like it’s a golden ticket.
As we head back to the Sahara, Charlie is still humming Elvis tunes, Parker is debating which Area 15 exhibit was the weirdest, and Molly is “snapping” her friends for the thousandth time. My wife and I exchange a look—one that says, “Maybe Vegas is a good place for some family fun after all.” Back at the hotel, the girls collapse onto their beds, exhausted but buzzing with excitement. I can’t help but smile. Somehow, in the city of sin, we’ve found the best things to do in Las Vegas with kids.
And as I tuck them in, Charlie whispers, “Daddy, Vegas is way better than Disneyland.” I laugh, knowing full well that this won’t be the last time we trade Mickey Mouse for the King.
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