Lisa Phillips

Tulum breathes slowly and luxuriously: salt and warm limestone dust on the breeze, jungle humidity that drapes your shoulders, and an easy barefoot elegance threaded through its beach clubs, cenotes, and private villas. This guide collects my favorite high-end, sensory experiences—what to feel, taste, hear, and remember—plus practical logistics, micro tips, and an unbeatable day trip that should be on every first‑timer’s list.

Cape Town and the Winelands land where light, landscape, and craft converge, and each visit feels like rediscovering a beloved painting. The city’s cliffs, fynbos, and ocean air sharpen the senses, while intimate galleries and vineyards reveal the region’s layered stories and generous hospitality. Moments here—sunset terraces, sculpture-lined slopes, and a quiet tasting with a winemaker—linger like a private ritual, making the destination both a refuge and an invitation to return.

Conrad Hamburg captured my heart the moment I stepped beneath Ada Isensee’s stained-glass canopy and felt history and artistry converge in one breath. The quiet sanctuaries of its inner courtyards, the tactile warmth of its copper accents, and the scent of lavender-mint from my pillow transformed every moment into an intimate ode to Hamburg’s maritime soul. Bathing in the glow of the Alster at dawn from my floor-to-ceiling window, I understood that this hotel is more than a stop—it’s a living canvas where the city’s past and future meet. Here, every whispered echo of art and every curated detail lingers long after you’ve checked out.

Porto Venere stole my breath the first time I rounded La Palazzata’s pastel façades at dawn, when the sun glazed the harbor in molten gold and the briny perfume of the Ligurian Sea clung to my skin like a whisper. I still taste the bright lemon zest of gelato melting on my tongue as church bells toll across the cobbled carruggi, and feel the rough, sun-warmed stone under my palm as I paused to press a finger into ancient graffiti. Standing atop Doria Castle, the wind tangled my hair with scents of wild rosemary and salt spray while the sea shimmered beneath me in every shade of turquoise. Porto Venere isn’t just a postcard-perfect village—it’s the place where myth, history, and salt-kissed air became the landmarks of my own restless heart.

Kennebunkport’s weathered boathouses and briny ocean breezes will forever shimmer in my memory as the setting for my cousin Elizabeth’s wedding to Andrew. I can still taste the buttery sweetness of lobster rolls dusted with sea salt from The Clam Shack and feel the sun-warmed granite of Mother’s Beach beneath my hand as foamy waves whispered against my toes. The pine-scented fog rolling off Walker’s Point mingled with the sweet perfume of heirloom roses draped across the ceremony arch, while the gulls’ distant cries and the gentle clink of champagne flutes blended with the harbor’s gentle swell. Strolling past pastel clapboard cottages and along cobblestone lanes lined with hydrangeas, I discovered that every creak of wooden porches and swirl of tide pools carried the quiet magic of this coastal village.

The Azores' otherworldly landscapes—where mineral-rich steam drifts through emerald valleys and the briny Atlantic breeze whispers in your ear—will forever glow in my heart as the place I reunited with my fiancé, now husband, during his stationing on the Azores. I still taste the sun-warmed sweetness of local pineapples and feel the warmth of honeyed Gorreana tea on my tongue, each sensory note weaving itself into our story. Every crater-rim vista and ocean-fed thermal pool became a backdrop to love’s unfolding, where distance melted away and we discovered home in each other. This island is not just a destination but the setting of the most transformative chapter of my life.

I love Las Vegas’ most luxurious suites for the way they cradle me in plush velvet whispers and cool marble under my fingertips, while the electric glow of neon spills across floor-to-ceiling windows framing moonlit cityscapes. Every evening, I share a flute of chilled champagne as the horizon pulses with gold and rose, and rose petals swirl from the marble spa bath in a fragrant embrace that feels like a lover’s caress. Deep-pile carpets cushion my footsteps into soft hushes, and bespoke chandeliers drizzle honeyed light over intimate corners where whispered promises linger. Returning to these suites is my sweetest ritual—a love letter in satin and marble, where every moment tastes of possibility and romance blooms anew.

Corfu is the island that taught me how to slow down: its salt air stitches itself to my skin and the pine-scented evenings anchor me in the present. Traveling here with my husband and Sara, the island became a ledger of small, sacred rituals—warm koulouri at dawn, a shared bite of grilled fish, a single pebble pressed into our travel journal—each one a promise we return to. I love Corfu because its light and layered history cradles both loud laughter and quiet conversation, turning ordinary moments into heirlooms I tuck into my memory.

Vancouver holds a sacred kind of stillness for me—a city where ocean mist meets mountain breath, and every corner feels like a memory waiting to be made. I love how the scent of cedar in Stanley Park mingles with the salt air of English Bay, how the hum of Granville Island’s market wraps around you like a warm shawl. Traveling here with my cousin Sara turned each moment into ceremony: from the sway of the Capilano Bridge to the quiet joy of sharing a peach on the beach. Vancouver isn’t just a destination—it’s a sensory tapestry of legacy, laughter, and belonging.

Hilton Head feels like a practiced pause where salt air, warm sand beneath bare feet, and the hush of marsh grasses teach you to breathe more slowly—morning light pools on the shore like honey, and the steady, low rhythm of the surf sets a gentle pace for the day. I love Hilton Head for its layered comforts: the glow of sunset on mirrored water, the citrus-bright tang of charred Gulf shrimp and buttery she-crab soup, and the way evening breezes carry live music from the marina mingled with the distant clink of sail rigging. On quiet paths, oak canopies scent the air with green loam and magnolia, and tidal creeks reflect egrets like slow white brushstrokes. Small rituals—a cold drink shared on a porch, shells tucked into pockets, a late walk beneath lighthouse lights—become the island’s soft, repeatable ceremonies. It is a place that stitches these sensory moments into lasting memories and makes room for gentle reinvention.

My sister and I started our Lithuanian adventure in Vilnius in 2019, wandering its ancient streets as damp cobblestones glowed under lantern light and whispered secrets hidden off the beaten path. The air brimmed with tangy notes of freshly baked rye bread and the mossy breath of silent courtyards nestled between pastel rooftops. Baroque spires and forest-scented riverbanks murmur tales of resilience and renewal—their echoes guiding me toward unexpected discoveries beyond the city’s famed squares. In Lithuania, every sunrise feels like a ceremony—one that invites you to inhale dew-kissed petals and weave your own story into the country’s storied tapestry.

Telluride lives in my memory as a place where the mountains feel close enough to touch—an intimate box canyon lit by alpenglow, where history and high-touch luxury meet without pretense. I fondly remember coming here to ski with my parents growing up, learning the rhythm of the lifts and the hush of fresh snow on those bluebird mornings. I love how the free gondola stitches town and Mountain Village together, lifting you from chef-driven dinners to starlit silence in minutes—no stress, no long lines, just pure, effortless flow. It’s where I send clients for milestone moments because the service is polished, the terrain is world-class, and every detail conspires to make time slow down; for me, Telluride isn’t just a ski destination, it’s a feeling of arrival.

Charleston drew me in with its honeyed light and the soft sigh of Spanish moss, each cobblestone whispering tales of centuries past. In crafting this three-day journey, I listened to the city’s heartbeat—the hush of dawn at Marion Square, the salty breath of the harbor, the gentle clap of surf on Sullivan’s Island. This itinerary is more than a checklist—it’s an invitation to slow down, to let the city’s textures mark your memory. You’ll sip lavender ice cream under a live oak, breathe in the iron tang of Fort Sumter’s ramparts, and savour a waterfront breeze that tastes of salt and freedom. In every bite, step, and sunset, Charleston will become a part of you—and you a part of its enduring story.

Walking along sun-warmed pebbles perfumed with rosemary and salt breeze, I felt the Amalfi Coast awaken every sense as majolica tiles caught sunlight like scattered jewels. In the hush of Pompeii’s ash-laden streets, the echo of my footsteps on ancient basalt spoke of lives paused in time, inviting me to bridge past and present with each breath. This destination means something to me because it weaves citrus-scented groves, cliffside shrines, and hidden coves into a tapestry of memory and discovery. Here, every sigh of wind through lemon blossoms and every taste of limoncello is a reminder that travel can be both ceremony and revelation.

The Virgin Islands hold a special place in my heart—not just for their turquoise waters and soft, sandy beaches, but for the memories they helped create. I celebrated my 15th wedding anniversary on the private shores of Lovango Resort & Beach Club, a getaway where time seemed to slow and every sunset became a keepsake. From the laughter echoing at dinner to the gentle hush of the waves, this destination reminded me of how travel can deepen love and connection. It’s the kind of place that lingers in your spirit long after you leave.

As the butler unfastened my luggage with practiced finesse, I stepped onto the wedge-shaped terrace—wrought-iron balustrade and sun-kissed loungers—where salt-kissed breezes teased my champagne flute and porcelain plates of canapés waited. In the travertine-clad bathroom, a deep soaking tub and rain-shower cubicle gleamed beneath gilded mosaic inlays, gardenia-scented Molton Brown amenities at the ready, and in that golden interlude of silk, sea spray, and soft pop, I knew I had found a new love.

Puerto Rico first stole my heart on a sultry Old San Juan evening, when amber lanterns haloed rain-polished cobblestones and the air pulsed with the coquí’s chorus beneath cascades of magenta bougainvillea. Each sip of café con leche tasted of smoke, vanilla, and caramelized sugar as salted breezes drifted off the bay, carrying distant piano melodies through winding, pastel-edged alleyways. At El Morro’s ramparts at first light, my palm met salt-kissed granite whose centuries-old grooves whispered tales of Spanish sentinels and cannon fire, while seabirds wheeled overhead against a rose-gold horizon. In the emerald hush of El Yunque, I stood beneath dripping ferns and felt waterfalls thunder on my skin like ancestral drums, inhaling mist laced with orchid perfume and petrichor until the island’s layered history pulsed in my blood.

Bora Bora is the pinnacle of refined romance—where overwater villas float above crystalline lagoons and every detail is curated for intimacy and indulgence. For me, it is a sanctuary where time slows, service anticipates unspoken desires, and each experience—private island picnics, champagne sunsets, starlit dining—becomes part of a couple’s personal legacy. This is not simply a honeymoon destination—it is a stage for life’s most exquisite chapter, crafted with precision, privacy, and unparalleled beauty.

When I first slipped into the hushed light of St. Peter’s Basilica, my breath caught at the echo of centuries coursing through marble pillars, and I felt profoundly humbled and grateful for the gift of witnessing such steadfast devotion. Gazing up at Michelangelo’s frescoed heavens in the Sistine Chapel, reverence washed over me as time seemed to dissolve, offering a transcendent glimpse beyond the bounds of everyday life. Pressing my hand to the cool travertine beneath Bernini’s colonnade, I found deep solace and a living connection to the countless pilgrims whose hopes and prayers still linger in the stone. In that sacred embrace, the Vatican became a mirror for introspection—a quiet harbor where my restless spirit learned that the most transformative journeys unfold within.

The Mediterranean feels like a sacred whisper to my senses—a place where time slows and beauty speaks in textures, tides, and twilight rituals. I remember the hush of early morning in Paros, barefoot on cool stone, the scent of fig trees mingling with sea breeze as the horizon blushed awake. Each resort I’ve visited becomes a living altar: linen-draped terraces kissed by salt air, candlelit dinners that echo with laughter and legacy, and moments so intimate they feel stitched into memory. For me, these escapes aren’t indulgent—they’re ceremonial. They invite me to pause, to savor, and to script meaning into every sip, every view, every breath.

Aruba holds a deeply personal resonance for me—it was the setting for a milestone celebration I had the privilege of designing for a dear friend: her 50th birthday and 27th wedding anniversary. Our bond traces back 23 years to when we were stationed together, making this journey not just a tribute to her love story, but a full-circle moment of friendship and legacy. I approached every detail with intention, crafting an experience layered in joy, memory, and meaning. It was more than an event—it was a living ceremony she’ll carry with her always.

Monte Carlo wasn’t just a destination—it was a revelation. I arrived jet-lagged, heels clicking across polished stone, unsure whether I was chasing beauty or simply trying to feel awake. But as I leaned against the Port Hercules railing, watching sunlight turn superyachts into floating gems, something shifted. The city didn’t just dazzle—it welcomed. A tucked-away barista greeted me by name, and in that quiet exchange, I felt the heartbeat of true hospitality: the kind that sees you, even when you’re a stranger. That moment stayed with me. It reminded me that luxury isn’t just about grandeur—it’s about intimacy, memory, and the rituals that make us feel cherished.

Anse Chastanet’s twin Pitons and Jade Cove hold a special place in my heart because this oasis reminded me of the very first sunrise swims my little sister and I chased as kids, dreaming of adventures beyond our backyard. Now, as we celebrate her bachelorette, I can’t imagine a more fitting way to honor her next chapter than snorkeling vibrant reefs by day and clinking cocktails on our private veranda by night. The resort’s intimate villas tucked into lush rainforest foliage felt like the secret hideouts we built with pillows at home—where laughter and whispered dreams intertwined. Here, every sunrise and starlit toast we share will become a cherished page in our sisterhood story.

On my 50th birthday, I watched the sunrise spill into my ultra-luxury suite as the Burj Khalifa glowed like a beacon of possibility, whispering new chapters into my life. A lifelong traveler with a heart shaped by global adventures, I found Dubai’s seamless dance between ancient desert and cutting-edge skyline mirrored my own evolution of reinvention. When my butler presented saffron-infused coffee at dawn, I felt how true luxury lives in rituals that speak directly to your soul. Dubai holds a special place in my heart for teaching me that celebrating yourself with intention can transform a fleeting moment into a memory that lasts a lifetime.

Las Vegas first dazzled me as a child, clutching my parents’ hands as neon lights and slot-machine song cascades filled every corner of the casino floor. Decades later, after retiring from the Air Force, I made this city my home and rediscovered that same thrill in its hidden gems—neighborhood eateries, tucked-away lounge acts, and desert-edge trails few visitors ever find. Vegas’ soaring spectacle still quickens my pulse, but it’s the off-Strip secrets and local haunts that make this place truly mine. I guide every itinerary to blend iconic glamour with the city’s best-kept local treasures.

Oʻahu holds a sacred place in my heart—not just as a destination, but as a former home. I had the privilege of living on the island for six years while serving as the spouse of a USAF officer, immersed in the rhythms of local life. I shopped, dined, and celebrated alongside the community, far from the tourist trail, and was graciously welcomed into spaces that remain sacred and unseen by most. The island’s spirit, and the people who shared it with me, continue to shape how I design journeys—with reverence, gratitude, and deep emotional memory.