Korail, the Korean Railway, recently introduced two sightseeing trains that explore the country's mountainous and rural areas. The O-train features observatory rooms and sightseeing monitors, and makes a five-hour loop around the central inland region, taking in deep gorges and stopping at 13 stations. The V-train travels round trip for 70 minutes down the Baekdudaegan mountain range, which runs most of the length of the Korean Peninsula.
It's little surprise that the Japanese, who have a way of perfecting culture imported from abroad, would be drawn to the art of surf. Josh Rosen, a co-owner of the tastemaking lifestyle brand Saturdays Surf NYC, which opened a store in Tokyo last year, is frequently impressed by the meticulousness of "all the little accouterments": cars outfitted with slots for surfboards and luggage racks that fold out as surfboard caddies; wet suits on hangers; and blankets to change on.
When he first surfed in Japan, Morgan Collett, Rosen's business partner, was surprised by just how crowded the breaks were. The past five years have seen a major resurgence of interest in the sport, and in the breezy style that goes along with it. Takashi Kumagai, a stylist and photographer, notes that even nonsurfers love the laid-back look. In the 1970s, Tokyoites with no intention of getting in the water went so far as attaching boards to the roofs of their Volkswagen Beetles; these days, they might wear brightly striped pocket tees and beachy, slim-fitting chinos, like those sold at Saturdays — which, conveniently, just unveiled a second international outpost in the port city of Kobe. Junji Uchida, who edits two Japanese surf magazines, says the sport increasingly attracts urbanites who appreciate the outdoorsy lifestyle but aren't necessarily interested in surf's high-performance, competitive side, which dominated the culture in the '80s and '90s. These days, he says, it's about being "fashionable, organic and healthy. During the week you work in the city, and on the weekends you go and hang out at the beach."
Luckily, there are two great surf destinations about an hour by train from Tokyo. To the southeast, the east coast of the prefecture of Chiba has miles of beach with consistent, year-round waves. Largely rural and undeveloped, it feels a bit like Montauk — before the era of boutique hotels and beer gardens. "We walked along this one-lane highway to get to the beach," Collett says. "And there's like no houses. And it's just these breathtakingly beautiful rolling mountains that go to the ocean."
To the southwest of the city, on the Shonan coast, the town of Kamakura has reef breaks that can produce great swell (most consistently during typhoon season in August to October). When the waves are bad, Kamakura compensates with bustling beach bars and restaurants. Kumagai predicts more stylish businesses will soon open. This spring, a gallery called Greenroom that focuses on surf art had its first show. Last fall, a chic concept store and locavore restaurant called Garden House opened. Kumagai, who masterminded the retail concept for Adam et Rope Biotop, a trendy fashion and lifestyle store in Tokyo, is considering trying to bring a version to Kamakura — perhaps incorporating a smoothie shop and a farmers' market.
"To me it felt very much like Malibu," Rosen says of Kamakura's vibe. But it's hard to forget you're in Japan. The first clear day he surfed there, he says, "I was literally putting my wet suit on, and I looked up and to the right, and there was Mount Fuji."
In the summer of 1996, fresh out of college, I moved to Ho Chi Minh City for one simple reason: I loved Vietnamese food. At restaurants in Virginia, Maryland and Washington, I'd grown fond of the staples of the cuisine — grilled meats, startling herbs, crunchy vegetables — and particularly of pho, the aromatic beef noodle soup that is Vietnam's national dish. As graduation approached, I knew I wanted to live overseas, and Communist Vietnam, which had just opened its doors to the West, was the obvious choice. In fact, it didn't even feel like a choice at all — it felt like destiny.
But as I quickly discovered, liking a cuisine is not the same as understanding it. My first sense of this disjunction came a couple of weeks into my stay, when I settled in for lunch at a downtown restaurant. The manic energy of the streets — the flood of motorbikes, the clanging construction crews, the gawking tourists — had dissipated in the midday heat. Time to eat, and nap and breathe and think, away from the tropical sun.
This respite is likely the only reason that I happened to notice the man with the gun. He was across the street, standing in the clear sunshine. He was Vietnamese, in his early 40s. He wore sunglasses. And at his side, he held what I assumed was an Uzi. Then he disappeared into a storefront. If the street had been full of 100cc Hondas, as it had been an hour earlier, I would've missed him entirely.
It was an odd sight, and I wanted to ask someone — anyone — about it. Was the man a gangster? A cop? Then my food arrived, and I forgot all about him. I hadn't known what to order, but something on the menu caught my attention: luon nuong mia, freshwater eel wrapped around sugarcane (held in place with a chive bow) and grilled over charcoal. As I bit, I fell in love. The eel was rich and oily, caramelized from the charcoal heat, infused with the tang of garlic and fish sauce and the sweetness of raw cane. And the cane itself, when I gnawed it, released a burst of sugary juice tinged with the meaty slick of the eel.
This, I knew, was what I couldn't get back home. This was why I'd picked up stakes and moved to Vietnam. The eel was so great that I wanted to turn to my neighbors and tell them that it justified everything.
But I had no neighbors. I was alone in this restaurant — alone and confused. After all, this seemed to be a quality spot; the eel was proof. So where was everyone? What was I doing wrong?
Those first months in Vietnam were full of such confusion. All around me, I was fairly sure, were amazing food experiences waiting to be had, yet I couldn't figure out what to eat, how to order, and where, and when, and why. At lunch, for example, I'd often order pho at the renowned Pho Hoa Pasteur. But when I told my students in my English classes, they looked confused. To them, pho was breakfast, not a midday meal. I'd protest: Plenty of Vietnamese people were at Pho Hoa Pasteur! My students would backtrack, perhaps wanting not to contradict their teacher, or just to make me feel comfortable. Oh, sure, they'd say, you can eat any food anytime you want. Khong sao — no problem.
But it was a problem. And I knew its roots. At Vietnamese restaurants in America, all kinds of foods are served together — noodles, soups, stir-frys, spring rolls. But in Vietnam, restaurants are often devoted to a single dish: pho, banh xeo (a rice crepe stuffed with pork and bean sprouts), goat hot pot. Adapting to this was hard. Knowing only a small subset of dishes, and only a few words of Vietnamese, I didn't even know what to commit myself to. I knew that I should just blindly walk in, point to whatever I saw on other tables, and enjoy the result, but fear and shyness kept me at bay. Is there anything more alienating than not knowing how to eat?
Too often I wound up at the non-Vietnamese restaurants in the backpacker and tourist districts. They were often good: excellent Italian fare, thanks in part to fresh tomatoes and basil; a devoted expatriate clientele demanded serious Japanese; and a century of French colonialism meant that pâté, red wine and onion soup were vernacular dishes. But these meals all reminded me of my ongoing failure to penetrate Vietnamese culture.
Adapted from "The Turk Who Loved Apples: And Other Tales of Losing My Way Around the World," published this month by Da Capo Press.
Kosuke Okahara for The New York Times
By Shibuya station, a mass of pedestrians cross the street. More Photos »
Japan's population may be skewing older, leading the global march to demographic gridlock, but Tokyo feels like a city powered by the young. Sophisticated and sprawling, with half a dozen city centers that long ago grew together, it combines the life force of a national capital of everything — politics, finance, culture, style — with a talent for change and renewal that it earned the hard way, bouncing back after repeated flattening by earthquakes, fires and war over its 400 years of existence. The skyscraper race of the '90s has slowed down, but a new romance with the city's waterfront is flourishing, spots for sushi and pâté de foie gras are always being added to its 160,000 restaurants, and the teenagers jamming anime-inspired shopping districts update the outlandish costume of the moment every few months.
Friday
1 3 p.m. Spirit World
It's easy to forget while squeezing onto the subway or dancing to techno-pop, but Tokyo is still the seat of an emperor. At the Meiji Shrine, the deified spirit of the Emperor Meiji, the current emperor's great-grandfather, resides in a Shinto temple surrounded by 170,000 majestic trees. A 40-foot-high arched torii gateway marks your entry into this spiritual world, and a network of paths leads to the shrine. The forest feels peaceful and far from the busy city, even though this is one of Tokyo's most visited outdoor places.
2 4 p.m. The Stylish Swarm
Abandon tranquillity with a short walk to the shopper-clogged streets of the Harajuku district. Shops selling everything to outfit the fashionable teenager crowd Takeshita Dori, a jam-packed pedestrian-only alley. Omotesando, a tree-lined boulevard, projects a more mature vision of chic with European designer outlets like Dior and Louis Vuitton; Paris-inspired cafes; LaForet, a boutique complex featuring up-to-the-minute styles; and Omotesando Hills, a Tadao Ando-designed shopping arcade devoted to high-end fashion.
3 7 p.m. Consult the Sommelier
A favorite after-work stop in Tokyo is the izakaya, a pub selling small plates of bar food, typically with beer. The format gets a high-end twist at Izakaya Vin in Shibuya, where the plates (800 to 1,600 yen, or $8.25 to $16.50, at 97 yen to the dollar) feature selections like Parma ham, whitefish carpaccio and duck salad, and the libation is French wine from an extensive list. A glass is around 1,500 yen, but the sommelier closest to your table will also open a bottle for you, for a price ranging from 7,300 to 1 million yen. A well-dressed crowd munches, sips and chats at small tables spread over three floors.
4 10 p.m. Street Moves
After-dinner coffee comes with a show at the Starbucks overlooking the Scramble Intersection (more properly called the Shibuya Crossing), a hub of busy streets. Instead of walking with traffic, pedestrians are held back until the traffic lights stop all vehicles simultaneously. Then, in a triumph of crosswalk choreography, hundreds of people surge out and completely fill Hachiko Square, walking in all directions yet never colliding. They're all just going from one place to another, but it's a scene reminiscent of both performance art and the maneuvers of a Big Ten marching band, and it has become a popular attraction. If all the second-floor window seats are taken, watch from the Mark City pedestrian passage at the Shibuya train station across the street, near "The Myth of Tomorrow," a haunting "Guernica"-like mural depicting the horror of an atomic bomb detonation.
Saturday
5 10 a.m. On the Sumida
A latecomer to the notion of a recreational waterfront, Tokyo now looks to the water for more than seafood. From Hinode Pier at the edge of Tokyo Bay, take a cruise into the heart of the city on the Sumida River, passing riverside walkways and feeder canals. Commentary in Japanese and English focuses on the 13 bridges that slip by overhead, but the real point is the unusually open perspective on this congested city. Other cruises cross the bay to Odaiba, an island that has taken off as an entertainment district covered with amusement parks, museums, shopping malls and a spa that draws geothermally heated water from deep under the bay.
6 11 a.m. Sample the Senbei
The passenger in seat 34B has caught your eye? Now on Virgin America flights, you can catch his attention by sending him a drink, snack or meal along with a text via seat-back monitor declaring your intentions. Richard Branson, Virgin's founder, right, introduced the service last month in a video billed as his "guide to getting lucky at 35,000 feet." Try it, he said, and your chances of "deplaning with a plus one are at least 50 percent."
Los Angeles's tourism agency is hoping to entice visitors to find new ways to explore the city. Its "Car Free LA" program offers seven itineraries for tourists up for biking, walking or taking the Metro transit system. Trips include the bike route from Venice to Santa Monica and a walking tour of Hollywood, though you may have to take a taxi to the starting point.
No wonder travelers are bent out of shape.
Economy airplane seat width is usually 17 or 18 inches. The average American man's waist is about 40 inches (38 for women), according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Need I even mention the sliver of space between your knees and the seat in front you?
Fliers nowadays expect to walk off planes with stiff hips and strained backs. Desperation for relief has made seats with extra legroom cash cows for airlines. Even top yoga instructors who can fold their bodies like origami say they abhor airplane seats. So how do you emerge from a plane without feeling like Quasimodo? I turned to one of the best-known yoga teachers for advice.
Cyndi Lee, the founder of the "no baloney" Om Yoga brand and familiar to veteran practitioners from her videos and New York City classes, is in her 50s and among the most flexible frequent fliers. A few weeks before spring trips that will take her to Japan, Virginia and Berlin, she shared some airplane-friendly poses that keep her feeling supple and can be done in a seat or in the aisle. Many of the poses can be performed by yoga novices; others are for seasoned yogis — or those who dare to try a tree pose at 30,000 feet.
For Beginners
"A lot of what you're doing with these stretches is just increasing the circulation," said Ms. Lee, explaining that fluids "such as water and lymph can tend to pool in lower regions" on an airplane, making fliers "feel sluggish and thick."
To improve circulation through your lower back on long flights, be sure to twist every so often. While in your seat, plant your feet on the floor and twist to the right (you can put your left hand on the outside of your right knee to deepen the twist). Always include your head and neck in the twist. Switch sides.
If you have enough room and flexibility, from your seat you can also try ankle-to-knee (with one leg) pose, which is a complicated way of saying place your ankle on top of the opposite knee. For most people, simply being in this position is a significant stretch. "That will open your hip and give you a really good stretch around your butt and your hip," Ms. Lee said. To deepen the stretch, lean forward a little and place your forearms on top of your legs. Then switch legs. To improve circulation while in that position, flex and point your raised foot, and squeeze and spread your toes. Mind the whereabouts of the drinks cart.
Now, on to your upper back. This next pose, the hug, can be done sitting or standing. And it's perfect if your travels have you feeling stressed: just wrap your arms around yourself and squeeze, aiming to touch your shoulder blades with your fingertips. From there you can stretch your neck by pressing your right ear to your right shoulder; repeat on the other side. Then release and switch arms, this time placing the arm that was on top on the bottom, as you reach across your back.
After the hug, you can go into a modified eagle pose (normally done standing). Put your hands in front of you as if you were about to play peek-a-boo, but instead of covering your face with your hands, cross your forearms and wind your wrists until your palms touch. Move your palms away from your face for a little stretch. (Instructions for some of these poses are on YogaJournal.com.)
Need a bathroom break? In the space near the lavatory, you can counteract rounded shoulders and relieve a tight upper back with a shoulder stretch. Reach behind you with both arms outstretched until your hands meet, then interlace your fingers, and squeeze your shoulder blades together. Look up and lift your chest. Depending on your level of comfort, you can lift your arms up and away from your back a bit. "You're curving your spine in the opposite direction of the seat," Ms. Lee said, "which is good."
Other yoga experts offered similar advice. Alexandria Crow, a yoga instructor and teacher trainer at YogaWorks in Santa Monica, Calif., suggests putting your palms on either side of the aisle wall near the bathroom and leaning forward, as if stretching your chest through an open doorway.
Even simply hanging forward from the waist — folding at the hips and grabbing each elbow with the opposite hand — can make you feel better, Ms. Crow said.
She added that it's important during long flights to elevate your feet to keep your ankles from swelling. "I've gotten off the plane and had those gigantic ankles," she said. To prevent that, she puts her feet on the bulkhead wall, the back of the seat in front of her or the back edge of the armrest in front of her. That may be good for your ankles, though not necessarily for your relationship with fellow passengers. Some fliers (myself included) think feet belong on the ground.
For Yogis
For regular yoga practitioners, "tree pose is a no-brainer," Ms. Lee said, referring to the standing pose in which you place the sole of one foot against the inner thigh of your other leg and raise your arms to your chest or over your head. (You can use a wall by the bathroom for balance.) This pose can open up tight hips and relieve lower back pain. A small price to pay for the possible eyebrow raise from another passenger.
"I do these things and nobody even cares," Ms. Lee said. "In fact, I think some people are thinking, 'That's a good idea.' "
Another option is a variation on downward dog. Stand at your seat and put your hands on the seat back in front of you (not when your neighbor is occupying the seat). Then step back and lean forward, bending in half. (You're making a 90-degree angle, so your upper body and arms should be parallel to the floor.) If there's no room for that (and chances are there isn't unless you are rather petite), adjust by placing your forearms on the seat and do the same thing. "It's just a downward dog in a different relationship to gravity," Ms. Lee said.
You can also modify popular poses like cat and cow (done on your hands and knees) and do them while standing instead. Just bend your knees and place your hands slightly above your knees. Then alternate between rounding your spine like a dome (cat) and curving it like an arch (cow), looking down when you do cat and looking up when you do cow.
"You can do it in a very contained way and get a lot out of it," Ms. Lee said.
And don't forget to breathe deeply, which will help you become calmer. Ms. Lee, the author of "May I Be Happy: A Memoir of Love, Yoga and Changing My Mind," practices sama vritti, equal breathing in and out. She inhales for a count of 4, 5 or 6, then exhales for the same amount of time. She also recommends that travelers try lion pose: scrunching up your face and then, as you exhale, sticking out your tongue and looking up at the space between your eyebrows.
"Try to touch your chin with your tongue," she said, noting that this is good for waking up and reminding you to breathe.
I was about to suggest that this is also good for making people think you're nuts, but Ms. Lee seemingly read my mind.
"You can do that one in the bathroom," she said.
Joshua Hammer for The New York Times
Andrew Purvis, the author's friend, hiking to Mürren, in the Bernese Overland.
We were hiking in fog and drizzle up the barren slopes of Mount Schilthorn, a 9,748-foot-high peak overlooking the Lauterbrunnen Valley in Switzerland. As I inched along a narrow trail, the mist cleared to reveal a long drop on either side into a boulder-strewn abyss. My legs wobbled; my feet slithered over the soggy ground. I reached out to grasp what seemed like a taut rope line, only to feel it sag beneath my trembling fist. Then the trail widened, I steadied myself, and continued my arduous climb toward the summit.
During the winter season, the Lauterbrunnen Valley ranks among the most popular ski destinations in the Bernese Overland, a region in the German-speaking part of Switzerland that encompasses four high-altitude valleys and three of the highest peaks in the Alps: the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau, all rising to more than 13,000 feet. But I had come here with a Geneva-based friend at the height of the summer to experience the region in a different guise.
From May through October, the Bernese Overland becomes one of Western Europe's most challenging and beautiful hiking circuits. Snowy pistes morph into meadows speckled with wildflowers. Ski lodges turn into trekkers' retreats, and the swoosh of skis and snowboards gives way to the rush of water from dozens of cascades and the tinkle of cowbells. In 1779 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe hiked through the Lauterbrunnen, describing its splendors in his poem, "Spirit Song Over the Waters": "Down from the lofty rocky wall/ Streams the bright flood,/Then spreadeth gently in cloudy billows/ O'er the smooth rock." One can spend days, or even weeks, following in Goethe's footsteps through the Lauterbrunnen and adjacent valleys, hiking 120 miles of well-marked trails and crossing mountain passes that remain encrusted in snow year round. Along the way, rustic huts provide meals and hostel-like accommodation, and the opportunity to mingle with hikers from around the world.
My friend, Andrew Purvis, and I began our weekend trek in late July, traveling by train three hours east from Geneva to the town of Lauterbrunnen, then by narrow-gauge railway and aerial tram straight up from the valley floor to Mürren. Situated on a plateau at 5,400 feet above sea level, this former farming settlement today is a hiking and skiing center, with 450 year-round residents and dozens of hotels and B&Bs. During the summer, day-trippers by the thousands also come for staggering views of the Mönch, Jungfrau and Eiger — the latter immortalized in the 1975 Clint Eastwood thriller "The Eiger Sanction," which climaxes with a fatal climb on the avalanche-prone north face.
When we pulled into town, however, Mürren was deserted. An icy fog and heavy rain had socked in the town for two days. And the previous morning the Mürren-Schilthorn cable car had broken down near the summit of Schilthorn, forcing dozens of tourists to make a treacherous descent on foot back to the village. The weather, combined with that incident, had almost emptied the town.
After spending the night at the Hotel Jungfrau, a pleasant if nondescript lodge, we awoke to another morning of souplike weather. A funicular took us a few hundred feet higher to the start of the North Face Trail, a popular route since the earliest days of Alpine trekking. The early 19th century saw the first influx of foreign mountaineers to the Swiss Alps — most of them British soldiers — who scaled several high Alpine peaks, including the Jungfrau, with the help of local guides. The British invasion gave rise to hotels and mountain huts, and an Alpine tourism industry that today brings Switzerland billions of tourist dollars annually. The high-altitude walks during those early years could be perilous, as a plaque along the snow-dappled trail reminded us. "In Memory of Alice Charlotte, Wife of Capt. M. Arbuthnot, XIV Hussars," it read. "Killed by Lightning on the Schilthorn Alp 21 June 1865, Age 23."
Beyond the plaque, the trail diverged, one route descending around an aquamarine glacial lake, the other climbing steeply to the Schilthorn summit. We opted for the latter. The deserted trail wound above the tree line, crossing tundra, scree slopes and bare black and gray rock. The path became more precipitous, requiring us to pull ourselves up by hand in several places. After two arduous hours, we could see Schilthorn's summit peeking through the mist, marked by the cable-car terminus and a revolving restaurant, Piz Gloria.
The makers of the 1969 James Bond movie "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" used this restaurant, then under construction, as the mountaintop lair of the arch villain Ernst Stavro Blofeld, played by Telly Savalas. (It was the film crew that came up with the name for the establishment, using a word for "peak" in a Swiss dialect that, in fact, is not spoken in the region.) The slopes below the summit were the scene of one of the most spectacular chases in cinematic history, with Agent 007, played by George Lazenby, Australian used car salesman turned actor, making his escape on skis from Blofeld's gunmen, into the valley below. Piz Gloria is still exploiting its bygone cinematic glory. Through the windows of the gift shop we spied commemorative plates, coffee mugs, ski vests, T-shirts and other Bond-related kitsch.
A wave of change is coursing through the French city of Nantes, bringing cool new eateries, hotels and culture.
Nantes has broken the Madame Bovary curse that's turned so many other French provincial towns into snoozevilles. The city, recently named Europe's green capital by the European Union, is now a popular weekend destination for eco-conscious Parisians who have been lured by the fresh air and a raft of exciting new hotels, restaurants and cultural spaces. Much of the activity is centered around the old docklands along the Loire, now home to effortlessly hip restaurants like L'Uni (36 rue Fouré), an adventurous modern bistro, and Les Bouteilles (11 rue de Bel Air), easily the city's best wine bar, with plenty of Loire Valley vintages. Among the new hotels is the 28-room Sozo (doubles from about $140), built inside a 19th-century chapel with barrel-vaulted ceilings and original stained-glass windows. Best of all is Le Lieu Unique, a magnificent belle époque structure that was once an LU biscuit factory and is now a cultural center complete with a bar, a bookstore, a design shop and even a Moroccan-style hammam.
Richard B. Levine
Marchers from Delta Airlines in last year's gay pride parade in New York.
"Let's say a hotel is doing an ad campaign, but they don't have equal rights for their own employees," Mr. Tanzella said. "You have to have your house in order before you start going after the market."
Below are edited excerpts from a conversation with Mr. Tanzella on how lesbian, gay, bisexual or transsexual travelers can figure out what places and companies are truly gay friendly.
Q. Any resources that gay travelers can use to evaluate a company or destination?
A. You can start by checking out our Web site, which lists everything from travel agencies and tour operators to hotels, airlines, cruise lines, car rentals and restaurants and bars. Businesses who pay to be on our Web site must follow our code of ethics, which basically says they welcome LGBT travelers and will treat them with respect like any other guest.
Q. Any companies that are doing a particularly good job?
A. Some of our standout members are Delta and American Airlines, which both have their own Web sites for LGBT travelers and support a lot of organizations and charities. For hotels, Hilton, Hyatt and Kimpton, a chic, boutique-y chain, are all very engaged with gay travelers and support LGBT charities. Kimpton does specials during Pride week in June for destinations that are popular among gay travelers, and it has its own LGBT newsletters.
Q. Any recommendations for gay travelers going abroad?
A. If you're going somewhere outside of a very popular tourist destination, do research online to find out what areas are friendly, what are safe. The new State Department Web site for LGBT Americans traveling abroad is fantastic. It gives links to information on each country and other tips. It's not a bad idea, for example, for parents to bring documents showing parentage or custody of their children when they go abroad.
We often refer travelers to International Lesbian and Gay Association (ILGA), which is based in Brussels and has a lot of information on countries: which afford protection to those who are LGBT; which do not, and even criminalize same-sex relationships.
We tell all travelers, gay and straight, that you must observe the laws and customs of wherever you're traveling. By disregarding them, that will be dangerous for you. Now, if you'd like to do something about a law you feel is unfair, that's when you contact ILGA, which promotes gay rights and equality around the world.
Q. In April as France legalized marriage and adoption for same-sex couples, demonstrations opposing the law intensified. Recently a Dutch-born man walking with his partner in Paris was beaten up. Should LGBT travelers worry?
A. No. Paris is a hugely popular destination for gay travelers and totally safe. Just stay away from marches where there have been incidents. Extremist groups take advantage of demonstrations to clash with police and lash out against the government.
Q. Have any places become more open to gay travelers?
A. In the last decade, a number of hot spots have emerged in South America like Peru and Brazil, and also Mexico City. It used to be only Rio and São Paulo in Brazil, but now Florianópolis has emerged as a gay destination.
Q. How do you find out about these places? Any resources you recommend?
A. Passport magazine, based in New York, is a member of ours. That's a great gay-specific magazine on travel. And Curve, a magazine geared toward lesbians, has some great travel features and ideas, too.
