SARATOGA LIVINGThe City. The Culture. The Life.

In the second entry of a two-part series, reported exclusively for saratoga living magazine, Contributing Editor Kate Doyle Hooper covers four hidden gems from North America—Mexico’s Isla Holbox, California’s Napa Valley and Canada’s North Hatley, Québec. (OK, so Napa isn’t all that “hidden”—but these aren’t the traditional spots every travel writer recommends!) Hooper takes you on an intimate journey to each city’s must-see attractions, including all the most secluded beaches, top hotels, wineries and more. Hooper, also a talented freelance photographer, snapped all of the photos you’ll see within the two-part feature. (Click on the above image for a photo gallery of Hooper’s photo exclusive to saratogaliving.com.)

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Isla Holbox (Mexico)

The beautiful thing about completing a few 15- or 16-hour flights is that, comparatively, anything shorter is child’s play. So, when the call came in to head for Mexico, I was half-packed before I put the phone down. A three-hour flight to Cancún, a two-hour ride in a shiny new 4 Worlds Expeditions SUV and then a 25-minute boat ride? Easy-peasy. A couple of days later, my iPhone, my “real camera” and I were loaded for bear as I stepped onto the ferry that would take me to Isla Holbox (pronounced “hole-bosh”), a sunny sliver of sand off the Yucatán Peninsula. Having met few people who’d ever heard of it, much less been there, admittedly, I was flying a bit blind. But I’d read about the 30,000-pound whale sharks that swim nearby, and I was ready to start snapping should one have crossed our bow.

It being October, though, the deckhand reminded me, somewhat apologetically, that I’d missed the whale-shark boat, as it were. To swim with the massive, plankton-eating creatures, I’d have to come back during their high season (June through September), when they ply the ocean waters to feed and breed. Now I was thinking there wouldn’t be much to do on Isla Holbox without them. Turns out, that’s exactly the reason why small groups of Mexicans-in-the-know and a smattering of Europeans and Americans find their way here.

A contemporary version of what pre-development Tulum must have looked like back in its Against All Odds days 35 or so years ago (Netflix that one, kids; think: early Jeff Bridges, Rachel Ward, white linen, tans), Isla Holbox is a sleepy, beach town/island, the kind of underdeveloped paradise that most of us only dream about (or see in the movies). Just a mile across at its widest point and 26 miles long (much of it covered in mangroves), Isla Holbox doesn’t have much room for throngs of people or big hotels, so even when the island is sold out, it feels blissfully unpopulated. The Internet? Intermittent. Cell service? Inconsistent. UberX? Nope. Only bikes and golf carts. So if you’re looking to do the global nomad thing, Skype with far-flung clients, stream a few shows, party like a rock star and crush the competition at the limbo contest, this is not the place for you.

If, however, you crave off-the-grid peace and quiet, are happiest reading on a lounge chair under a palm-frond umbrella and gazing out at the sea, then Isla Holbox has got you covered. And the best spot to disconnect in style is Ser CasaSandra, a chic, understated, homey, 18-room boutique hotel, roughly 100 unobstructed steps from the ocean. There were sea-view al fresco breakfasts on the front porch, hammocks to snooze in, a four-stool beachfront-bar, awe-inspiring sunsets and an attitude so laid-back that three days there was the chill-zone equivalent to about a week anywhere else. (Did I mention no TVs?) Beyond Ser CasaSandra’s palm-tree shaded, raked-sand front “lawn,” the rest of the town was dotted with low-key, bro-free bars and restaurants; secluded, empty beaches; plus kayaking, kiteboarding, windsurfing and boat tour trips to see pelicans, flamingos and even the occasional crocodile, if you’re looking for natural thrills. But for me, the Isla Holbox retro charm shone brightest long after sundown, when its unpaved, packed-sand streets were illuminated only by stars and the intermittent glow of flashlights and phones lighting the paths of islanders and visitors making their way home for the night. I’d have taken a picture, but I didn’t want the flash to wake the island.

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Napa/Calistoga (California)

Returning to the States from Mexico just long enough to pick up clean clothes and a fresh SD card or two, I left sand and sea behind, and headed for a quick run around Napa’s wine country to scout locations for a day-long corporate meeting—leaving room for some wining and dining, of course. With a lot of territory to cover—from the wine caves of the Odette Estate to Francis Ford Coppola’s revitalized Inglenook—and not much of a palate for anything beyond good champagne, I brought along my oenophile husband as my wine wingman/research assistant. Fortunately, he was able to talk shop with the vintners, while I checked out the facilities, taking polite sips of whatever was offered.

From there, we raced over to catch a quick luncheon ride to the Grgich Hills Estate aboard the Napa Valley Wine Train which, I was told, could also be rented out for private events, such as the one I had in mind for my corporate group. I was kind of loving the idea of an all-in-one movable, and drinkable, feast. Orders placed and wine poured, we chugged slowly through Downtown Napa, the outskirts, and then, eventually, alongside a good portion of the region’s 45,000 acres of grapes. Lunch arrived—chicken with julienned vegetables for me, salmon for him—on heavy, oven-warmed bone china plates, along with fine local vintages, and it was delicious, not to mention highly Instagrammable (like those walkways in Tongli). At the table, and later, on the vineyard tour, wine options were described in loving detail. Wine resister that I am, I started to lose consciousness, but my husband and fellow diners were lapping it up, nodding approvingly like true believers at a revival meeting. I tried to look busy and took notes in hopes of documenting—then later untangling—the mysteries of the grape some other time. When I revisited my notes weeks later, I realized they were written in Esperanto, and so my ignorance continued unabated. Apologies to the sommelier.

Train trip over, and back in the car, a few hours later, we pulled into the well-manicured grounds of the Solage, An Auberge Resort. Arguably one of the most photogenic resorts in California wine country, Solage is among the most glamorous, slightly under-the-radar Northern California gems that most East Coasters haven’t heard of, even though it’s been around for more than a decade. Quietly glamorous, like Emma Stone’s character at the end of La La Land, Solage was dressed to impress, simply and beautifully without ostentation, all in calming tones of beige, slate and buttercream. The luxury bells and whistles were present throughout but discreetly placed, rather than swinging from the chandeliers. Instead of shared walls and adjoining rooms, we were on our own in a freestanding little house, with a giant bed, bath and cozy shaded patio, made for al fresco wine-sipping. Our car stayed put in the lot while we tooled around the property and nearby vineyards on fat-tire beach bikes that came with our room/house.

At the far end of Solage’s 25-acre property, there’s a self-contained mini-village that houses a main spa building and multiple one-room treatment “houses,” a state-of-the-art fitness studio building and yoga center, plus two sizeable saltwater pools, complete with wide umbrellas and palm trees. It was a beautifully cloudless afternoon, and a few Angelinos and Europeans and their pretty progeny were quietly lounging around the pool, as palm trees swayed and colorful frozen drinks were delivered with a slight bow. Yes, all was right with the world in Calistoga.

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North Hatley, Québec (Canada)

It was late October, time to make the final trek north to our small, barely-on-the-grid, summer place in North Hatley, in the Eastern Townships of Southern Québec. The last leafy remnants of an underwhelming “fall colors” season were half-heartedly hanging on, at least until the windstorm that was predicted in 48 hours. The days were warm and sunny, the nights clear and full of stars. Late in the year as it was, to me, this trip was the official end of summer, the absolute last gasp, worth the seven-to-nine-hour drive from New York City (I-91 permitting). Always, when we pull away from Manhattan, I find myself wishing we lived further north, in Saratoga Springs, perhaps. It would, among other things, cut the trip to Canada down to three hours and change.

Arriving in North Hatley, there’s always a feeling of relief—that powering down, the feeling that naps and a good night’s sleep are imminent, along with any number of other more demanding activities, if the mood strikes. Just over the Vermont border, set amidst rolling hills and farmland, North Hatley is the kind of place where people come to do, sometimes, very little, but in interesting ways. It’s a haven for Canadian film types, politicians, well-to-do Montréalers, a handful of Americans, a few piles of old money and more recently, as property values have climbed, some colonization by high-finance types. In recent years, North Hatley has hosted an eclectic mix of celebrities, including Nicole Kidman, Johnny Depp, Pierce Brosnan, Bill and Hillary Clinton and former French President Jacques Chirac, to name a few. When it’s not providing a low-key getaway for the occasional boldfaced name, the quirky, two-block-long, mostly French-speaking town—established in 1887—is home to about 350 locals, with the population swelling to around 800 in high season (June to mid-October).

So what are the big to-dos in North Hatley? Some swim, others paddle, and then there are those who rusticate in style, lakeside, at the super luxurious Manoir Hovey, the Relais & Châteaux resort and spa where the Clintons regrouped after the 2016 election defeat. (Rumor has it that a justifiably exhausted Hillary hit the spa hard.) Others pedal out from the center of town to some portion of the 300 miles of bike routes that run through the region’s countryside and villages. With the right gear and some stamina, you can ride the 22-mile route south to Vermont or head 80 miles west to Montréal, your choice.

For outdoor fun minus the wheels, the two great hiking spots less than a 20-minute drive from North Hatley are Parc National du Mont-Orford, and the somewhat less vertical
Parc de la Gorge de Coaticook, which is home to 15 miles of hiking and mountain-biking trails, as well as the longest suspended footbridge in North America. (It sways. A lot. Frightening, but fun.) Nighttime in summer and early fall, the park transforms into “Foresta Lumina,” an interactive, illuminated “fantasy” forest, inhabited by mythical creatures, a great way to mesmerize (or freak out) the entire family.

There’s also a serious foodie scene, with four upscale restaurants and a gourmet patisserie on the two-block-long main drag, and two more eateries within walking distance. I drove just ten minutes and I found dozens of other fine dining options, all with a French accent. If wine is your thing, North Hatley also boasts three recently opened wineries, including one organic, sparkling wine vineyard run by a husband-and-wife team of retired government scientists; other options include a weekly farmers market, numerous dairy farms and a local monastery selling artisanal cheeses (triple-crème brie, anyone?)

As the end of the year closes in, a friend who travels for work as much as I do asks with a sigh, “So what do you do about post-travel depression?” a common affliction amongt those of us with the travel bug. “Start planning another trip,” I say.

In the first entry of a two-part series, reported exclusively for saratoga living magazine, Contributing Editor Kate Doyle Hooper covers three of Asia’s cultural and culinary hotspots—the Chinese cities of Suzhou, Shanghai and Hong Kong. Hooper takes you on an intimate journey to each city’s must-see attractions, including UNESCO World Heritage sites and Old World, off-the-beaten-path neighborhoods. (Of course, this isn’t your average backpacking trip; all of the sights were seen through the lens of luxury international travel.) Hooper, also a talented freelance photographer, snapped all of the photos you’ll see within the two-part feature. (Click on the above image for a photo gallery of Hooper’s photo exclusive to saratogaliving.com.)

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Suzhou

Molly’s text was emphatic: “Suzhou, China!” Uh, Sue-what? I said. “Tea-brewing demo! Columbus Circle! Pop-up teahouse! Meet me!” As I was a lifelong tea junkie shivering through yet another New York City winter, it was safe to say that she had me at “brewing.” One hot cup of Suzhou’s finest Dong Shan Bi Luo Chun tea, five months and a 15-hour flight later, I touched down at Shanghai Pudong International, in the once-forbidden land I’d dreamed of seeing since childhood, en route to Suzhou (pronounced “Sue-Joe”).

Yes, my travel bug started early. I was bitten sometime around my sixth birthday, when my parents gifted me what would become my favorite book, Around The World With Ant And Bee, an illustrated tale of best friends who travel to 11 countries searching for a lost umbrella. Over time, my travel affliction flourished, a side-effect of countless hours spent on the Disneyland “It’s A Small World” boat ride, transfixed by its kid-sized planet of 200-plus animatronic dolls in national garb, singing about world peace on an endless loop. Additional hardwiring of this global soundtrack came from my dad’s frequent, pitch-perfect renditions of Sinatra’s “Come Fly With Me” and Bobby Darin’s “Fabulous Places,” which, between the two songs, included a lyrical laundry list of 30 must-see exotic locales. Add to that images of my ahead-of-her-time mom packing for glamorous business trips in an era when most mothers stayed close to home, and my childhood takeaway was this: Go see the world. And for decades I have, with the last 12 or so months being one of my most fevered stretches ever, with bags never totally unpacked and all roads eventually leading to Suzhou.

Just a 30-minute ride from Shanghai via the high-speed “MagLev” (shorthand for “Magnetic Levitation” train), which blasts through the countryside at 230 mph, Suzhou is the beloved get-away spot for millions of over-revved Shanghainese and tourists from all over China. They step off the train and back in time for a day or two, to savor glimpses of the all-but-disappeared Old World—at least the bits that China’s enthusiastic development has, mercifully, managed not to pave over (yet). In Suzhou, the collective soul is stirred by ancient canals, cobblestone streets, stone bridges, centuries-old neighborhoods and, on the rural outskirts, acres of steeply terraced, green tea plantations marching up gentle slopes. But Suzhou’s main attractions are the nine ancient, classical gardens—horticultural masterpieces, all of them—which as a group establish the area’s UNESCO World Heritage site bona fides.

How Suzhou got—and stayed—so green is mostly a matter of location and very good luck, having begun its existence roughly 2500 years ago, as a well-positioned fishing village and trading post between the lower tail of the Yangtze River and the shores of Lake Tai, China’s third largest freshwater lake. A few hundred years later, with the addition of silk production and the development of a couture-level embroidery industry favored by Chinese royalty, Suzhou evolved into one of the most important and wealthiest “water town” ports along the Silk Road, complete with an extensive network of canals to keep all that progress moving forward.

All those mercantile riches attracted a well-heeled crowd of scholars, intellectuals and government administrators who enabled the arts, especially horticulture, to flourish, with many of the well-to-do locals competing to outdo one another with the beauty of their gardens. At its horticultural peak in the mid-1500s, it’s said that Suzhou was home to more than 200 private gardens, where upscale residents could get away from it all, behind high walls. Little did they know, 600 years later, their sanctuaries would continue to offer solace, only now to millions of everyday people, rather than just a select few.

All this is not to say that Suzhou is preserved in amber. Far from it. Though Marco Polo dubbed it the Venice Of The East, were he to stroll the streets of Suzhou today, he’d not only recognize some of the Old Town sights, but he’d also likely be taken aback by the bustling mega-city of six million people that’s sprung up around it and, at times, through it. As one of the fastest-growing, most prosperous cities in China, thanks in part to its government-mandated incarnation as a high-tech manufacturing hub, the new Suzhou is well-stocked with high-end restaurants, an emerging nightlife scene and lakeside luxury hotels, such as the sophisticated InterContinental Suzhou, the sparkly W Suzhou and the sleek, ultra-masculine Tonino Lamborghini. There’s a China-sized, Vegas-style, LED-light dancing waters extravaganza on weekend nights, plus the showpiece Suzhou Museum, designed by legendary I.M. Pei. There’s also the massive Suzhou Center, a mall that’s home to 600-plus shops, not to mention indoor ski slopes, a paintball emporium and an Olympic-sized skating rink. There’s even an indoor pony-riding school, should an upstart Saratogian be interested in taking a spin on a few small horses. Everything’s up to date in Suzhou City.

Neither a shopper nor a pony-rider, my mission in Suzhou was to absorb the legendary gardens and to let the town and the culture envelop me—to take my brain as far from home as my body was. The first step, and one that should be de rigueur for any traveler venturing beyond Shanghai, is to book a licensed guide, as language and ground logistics can be a challenge on the mainland. Though I rarely use them, this time I took the advice of mainland friends and put myself in the hands of an extraordinarily competent, capable and unfailingly cheerful guide, Cathie, from the aptly named Suzhou MoreFunAsia Travel Company, who picked me up at the airport, whisked me to Suzhou and skillfully piloted me through her hometown’s highlights. In just three days, she enabled me to see—and comprehend—what, in my jet-lagged haze, would have taken me weeks (or possibly months) to navigate on my own.

On day one, Cathie said, “The Chinese, we build gardens. Westerners, they plant gardens,” reminding me that instead of European-style, mathematically laid-out rows of flowers and shrubs, I’d be looking at something far more complex: the horticultural application of Confucian and Taoist principles; yin and yang; balance and harmony—a make-believe, garden-sized world shaped, trimmed and arranged to replicate the beauty of the natural one. (No, Toto, we’re not in Saratoga Springs anymore.)

With all this in mind, we wandered the grounds of Tiger Hill, the final stop for the ancient ruler, warrior and sword aficionado King Helü, who died in battle in 496 BC. The story goes that at the bidding of his son, the king, along with his favorite 3000 swords, was buried within the 49-acre park. Under the guise of thanking the 1000 craftsmen who built the place, the son invited them to a banquet and fatally dispatched every last one of them, presumably before dessert, to ensure that the king’s exact burial location remained a secret. It worked. Erasure of the craftsmen notwithstanding, Tiger Hill is today a peaceful oasis that takes you on a trip through the greatest hits of classical Chinese landscape garden design. There’s lush yet manicured foliage, winding stone paths to stroll upon, carved-by-nature rock sculptures that look like miniature Matterhorns, delicate waterfalls and slowly flowing canals. Birds chirped and trees rustled as we roamed through this misty landscape that felt miles away from the bustling metropolis a few hundred yards beyond the garden gates. Giddy with jet lag and slightly intoxicated by the tranquility all around me, I offered a silent word of thanks to the murdered craftsmen who created it.

On the lawn below the park’s whitewashed Wanjing Villa, I watched master gardeners silently hand-trim bonsai trees, moving like a platoon of slow-motion Edward Scissorhands clones in green tracksuits and conical bamboo hats. When asked about his work among the 400 shrubs, one gardener replied that he liked the quiet, contemplative life of bonsai-tending. Sensing perhaps that it was time for me to stop intruding upon that life, Cathie sweetly prodded me onward with a gentle sweep of her arm and an endearing, “Dear Friend, there is much more to see.”

To escape the crowds on the way up to the park’s main event—the 154-foot-tall Huqiu Tower atop Tiger Hill—Cathie guided me up the much less traveled, back-of-the-hill path, past small, secluded tea fields tucked inside an otherworldly bamboo forest that called to mind the aerial sword fight scene from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon—and for a moment, I wished that I, like Michelle Yeoh, could swing across the thick, leafy green treetops. Instead, we descended Tiger Hill on foot, back down to meet our driver, and, with a haggling assist from Cathie, I was able to purchase an enormous hand-fan adorned with a portrait of Chairman Mao, which now resides on the mantelpiece in my Manhattan apartment.

In the morning, we headed out early to beat the crowds. “Life is sweet in Suzhou. We have no flooding, no tsunami, no volcano. It is very peaceful,” Cathie said, as doors opened at The Humble Administrator’s Garden and we bypassed the already substantial queue. (Clearly, she’s got the hook-up.) As advertised, the garden is indeed a stunning masterpiece of the classical genre that’s not to be missed—and clearly, nobody in this part of the world does. Inside, the vast grounds are dotted with knolls and small streams. There are one-room pavilions with black tile roofs tucked between clutches of trees, shrubbery and rockery. Water is molded into thoughtfully arranged ponds filled with foot-long koi and lily pads the size of truck tires. Pavilion walls are pierced by artfully placed “moon gate” passageways and glass-less windows framing painterly views of the garden’s heavily curated natural world, a live version of traditional, painted Chinese landscapes. Suddenly, all those endearingly kitschy paintings lining the walls of virtually every stateside Chinese restaurant seemed kitschy no more, but rather lovely depictions of the memorable places that speak to the Chinese soul—and now, mine too.

As the crowd swelled to more than 5000 within minutes of opening—according to the visitor-counting scoreboard stationed at the entrance—one did get the sense of how precious these gardens are to the Chinese psyche, and to the Chinese tourist. Though they’d likely never have the place to themselves—nor, for that matter, would I—it was still where we all came to slake our shared thirst for contemplative places, even if the solitude lay mostly in our imagination.

“Or, did it?” I wondered, when we arrived at the walled city gates of Tongli, walking its thousand-year-old cobblestone and canal-lined streets. Here, in this lovingly preserved, government-sanctioned, still-lived-in water town on the outskirts of Suzhou, if it weren’t for the cafés and shops occupying the town square’s storefronts, you’d be hard-pressed not to think you’d landed in a bustling, 16th-century Chinese village. Which is, of course, the idea. In Tongli, arguably, the main attraction, aside from the requisite ride along the tree-lined canals in antique, flat-bottom, oar-powered boats, and live Chinese opera being sung at top volume in the town square, is The Retreat & Reflection Garden. Also referred to as The Garden Floating On Water, one of the smaller gems in the UNESCO crown, it’s densely packed with a series of modestly sized, two-story houses and small pavilions connected by covered walkways, moon gates overlooking lush mini landscapes and bonsai trees in stone pots. The space brought to mind memories of actress Gong Li wandering the beautiful but claustrophobic grounds of her adopted home in Raise The Red Lantern. The structures here, though, were anything but ominous, having been artfully arranged to ensure beautiful views and visual surprises at every turn, despite the spatial constraints. At the center lay the garden’s main courtyard, surrounding a large, shoreless pond, creating a sort of optical illusion that made the buildings throughout the complex appear to magically float on the water, for an ethereal effect.

From The Retreat & Reflection Garden, we turned down one of Tongli’s born-for-Instagram, shoulder-width-wide walkways. At alley’s end, hidden inside an ancient structure, a stylish surprise awaited: the elegant, ultra-modern, reservation-only, 14-seat vegetarian restaurant Xishantang, whose delicate dishes elevate plant-based cuisine—and streamlined Taoist interior design—to high art. Though we were just a block away from the more typical tourist-friendly, open-air eateries that overlooked the canals, aesthetically, we were light-years away and loving it. After lunch, our Xishantang hostess (the chef’s sister) led us through another labyrinthine alley to an affiliated property, the small but exquisite Taimuting Hotel, a luxurious, Japanese ryokan-style, eight-suite guesthouse, just opened after a nine-year gut renovation by a Suzhou-born architect. It was all I could do not to ditch Cathie for a few days and sleep off my jet lag in this architectural jewel box, but such a move might have been frowned upon, even by my most accommodating Dear Friend. I realized I’d fallen hard for the sweetly cinematic Tongli and the charms of old Suzhou, and I will definitely plan to see them again someday.

Here are seven additional must-do’s in Suzhou besides all of those wonderful gardens:

1. Stay at the sophisticated and spacious Intercontinental; a highlight is its large, Michael Phelps-worthy indoor swimming pool.

2. View the aforementioned LED Dancing Waters, crowd-free, from the roof deck cocktail lounge atop the W Suzhou.

3. Spend a few hours window-shopping Suzhou’s not-to-be-missed 1000-plus wedding dress storefronts, packed with every type of gown imaginable, from RuPaul-style sequin show-stoppers to sleek Angelina Jolie-ready styles and everything in between.

4. Take in the “Master of Nets” show (at Master-of-Nets Garden, of course), a gorgeous progressive performance, where the audience moves from one part of the garden compound to the next to experience a series of five-minute-long song, dance, musical and spoken word performances.

5. Test your skills against the incredibly skilled embroiderers at the Silk Museum.

6. Try your hand at a Chinese calligraphy lesson with a local master.

7. Ride a bicycle rickshaw for the best way to tour Suzhou’s quiet back streets (see bicycle photo above).

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Shanghai

Bidding à bientôt to Suzhou, I was off for a quick once-around in Shanghai, China’s go-go-go, money-mad capital on the banks of the Huangpu River. Though I’m drawn more to Hong Kong’s tropical-isle-meets-high-rise aesthetic, when gazing out the window of the JW Marriott Hotel Shanghai’s 59th floor cocktail lounge, it was hard not to be gobsmacked by the power of Shanghai’s Fritz Lang-ian Metropolis-style skyline—arguably the world’s largest—fanning out for miles, far beyond the viewable horizon. As night started to fall and fog began to obscure the tops of the skyscrapers that surrounded me, I half expected the rain-soaked cast of Blade Runner to roll in for a nightcap.

At sunrise, my goal was to find what remained of Old Shanghai, which, tough as it may be to locate now, will be all but impossible to find in a few short years, as it’s scheduled to disappear by 2020. And so, the Four Seasons Puxi, my home for the duration, arranged a private visit to one of the last remaining “shikumen” compounds, the gated, village-like enclaves of 19th-century stone houses that once covered much of Shanghai. Now on the inevitable bulldozing block, due, in part, to its stellar location in the middle of Downtown’s most valuable real estate, the (almost) sole shikumen-style survivor compound to which I was headed, just off Wei Hai Road, was a photographer’s dream, though probably not much fun to live in (think communal kitchens and toilets, and tiny living quarters). So it was only fitting that the person who led me through the Old-World maze was the godfather of contemporary, post-Cultural Revolution Chinese photography, Gang Feng Wang, hailed as China’s very first freelance photographer. Coincidentally, it was Wang’s striking documentary-style photos and time-lapse videos of Shanghai that caught my eye months earlier when I was Googling the city. As far as I was concerned, I was in the presence of a local celebrity, one who’d grown up here, had kept a studio here for decades and was greeted warmly by almost everyone we met.

Overhead, laundry and electrical lines formed beautifully chaotic canopies as we climbed up creaky stairways, across renovation-ready rooftops and around under-the-radar mahjong games. We were waved into overstuffed apartments by house-proud residents and wandered through shared hallways packed with bikes, extra furniture, pots, pans and the occasional grandma skillfully peeling vegetables. I spent much of my time jogging, squatting and dropping to one knee, doing my clunkier version of David Bailey in Blow-Up, shooting rapid-fire snaps of every corner, every doorway, every stone in the street. After watching about two hours of my enthusiastic if somewhat ungainly performance, Wang, a quiet and observant soul, noted with a wry smile, “You have an eye for this place. I can see you understand.” High praise from the master, and I beamed with pride.

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Hong Kong

A few weeks and I’m off (again) on Cathay Pacific, as the dusk crept in over Victoria Harbor, and misty low clouds were making the buildings on both sides of Hong Kong glow in blue-gray sepia. Traffic lights cycled through their tri-color routines, as red aviation lights blinked in their own rhythm atop sky-high rooftops of the city’s tall, thin office and apartment buildings. I was sipping a glass of Ruinart champagne, staring at the never-ending water ballet in the harbor below, with hundreds of styles of boats zipping back and forth like a swarm of aquatic hummingbirds. From the executive lounge on the 45th floor of the Four Seasons Hong Kong—a bucket-list hotel if there ever was one—I could have watched this dance all night, and had done so on many previous trips.

This time, however, I was here for a few meetings, so sleep was definitely on the menu. I’d also be celebrating a milestone anniversary with my husband, who’d just arrived to hike the mountains around Hong Kong (in 98-degree heat) on a magazine assignment. We were both here to work, then relax a bit in this place so luxurious it was akin to living inside a cashmere cloud, where life was soft, serene and seamless. Step outside the cloud though, and reality hit you like a hot, wet blanket. Not getting doused in sweat within seconds of stepping out onto the narrow, breezy, 45th-floor balcony was an impossibility—and we rushed back into cooler climes. We clinked glasses and tucked into the copious, lounge-supper spread we’d be sharing only with one American family of five in the corner and, one table away, our Asian doppelgängers (or were we theirs?) who were matching us small plate for small plate, cocktail for cocktail. Though their look was decidedly Architect-Navy-Blue-chic and ours more New Yorkers-in-all-black, it was evident that, on some telepathic level, we seemed to know one another well. Perhaps they were celebrating an anniversary, too?

With bellies full and our mood effervescent, we teetered down to our 24th-floor room, with its enormous bed, water-facing, cozy chaise lounge and panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows. But something was off. It was just 8pm on a Saturday night but, uncharacteristically, one of the busiest harbors in the world was suddenly eerily devoid of activity. I switched the room lights off to get a better look, but all I could make out below was the outline of darkened boats hanging back, lurking in the distance. Slightly unnerved, I grabbed my camera, pointed it toward the water, and then, the sky exploded! Rockets streaked hundreds of feet up into the sky, then burst into red stars, sparkling green bouquets, glowing white orbs, purple flowers and orange streamers, then dropped into the water, again and again—a full 23 minutes of nonstop, beautifully choreographed fireworks thundering past our window. Wow. Welcome to Hong Kong, and happy anniversary to you, too. Turns out we’d arrived just in time for the official “Fireworks Display To Celebrate The 20th Anniversary Of The Establishment Of The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region” event, or, in plain English, the end-of-British-rule, hand-over memorial, a bittersweet moment for some, a joyous occasion for others, but an unforgettable extravaganza for all.

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For the second part of Hooper’s adventure, click here.

For some, luxury is defined as that which isn’t necessary, an extravagance. For me, it’s always been a necessity. I learned at a young age from my dad that indulgence in luxury is, quite simply, a must. Naturally, I was thrilled when Jennifer and Dan Pickett hired my interior design firm to work on their new home on North Broadway, charging us with the challenge of producing a stunning luxury family home. With the architectural skill applied to the original house by SD Atelier Architecture, L.L.C., and later, the Phinney Design Group’s impeccable detail and design, Bonacio Construction’s building expertise and the Picketts’ vision, I knew we would be able to create pure elegance; it was a dream team, indeed, and we were on a mission.

The first time I met Jennifer, she stepped out of her sleek, black car with the grace and style of a movie star. Simply being around her broad smile and perfectly matched Jimmy Choos and handbag made all of us feel more glamorous. It’s always a privilege to design a luxury home for a successful client, but in this case, it was about more than just that. The Picketts have shown such incredible dedication to the Saratoga Springs community throughout the years; they run the Pickett Family Foundation, a philanthropic organization that invests in causes such as education and healthcare, so it felt good giving back to them. And did I mention their kids? Yes, this family boasts a handful of gorgeous and athletic children. This was going to be fun!

So what are the ingredients that go into designing a luxury Saratoga home? For starters, the home must be in a prime location—whether it’s on Union Avenue, 5th Avenue or North Broadway, it has to have a prestigious address. Next, it has to be gated, fenced in or shaded; mature trees should be brought in to surround the home and custom window shades (blackout lined, of course) hung perfectly in the windows to provide privacy for the family within. Also, the house should be fully wired with all the latest gadgets and have all the new highest-tech touches, such as surround-sound and remote phone apps. And finally, it must be constructed with superior-quality materials and luxurious finishes and amenities, including large, decked-out laundry rooms with multiple washers, dryers and steamers. With such a high price tag, a luxury home should be an unparalleled masterpiece.

And that’s what we set out to deliver. The Picketts knew what they wanted from the get-go. Says Jennifer of her family’s vision: “We wanted a private retreat in the landscape, as an escape for our downtime, as well as a place for entertaining friends and family. We strived for an elegant outdoor space, similar to the formal gardens you might see in London. We love London and travel there often.”

So the team had its marching orders, and we were delighted to provide the most luxurious sofas, custom-upholstered beds and gilded mirrors for the family’s dream home. Nothing was too precious. From the room plans to the design and the high-end construction materials, finishes and furnishings, everything was top of the line. Rare, hand-selected marble slabs, fine hardwood floors, silk velvets and spectacular hand finishes combined to create an interior that exuded beauty and sophistication. “Having the privilege to build a luxury home in Saratoga, with all the details and high level of construction that comes along with luxury projects, provided us with the opportunity to add something impressive to an already vibrant community,” says Sonny Bonacio, President of Bonacio Construction. In a sense, it’s not just about creating the perfect luxury home, it’s also about elevating the city around it.

And the Picketts’ home is no exception to the rule. An extraordinary level of care went into every aspect of this home—and it really turned out to be a collective effort. Michael Phinney, Phinney Design Group’s Owner and Principal Architect, concurs: “The level of detail and thought that goes into our designs is the result of a team effort between the architect, interior designer, owner and builder. Because our work is very diverse across a variety of project scales, it allows us to take large commercial methodology and professionalism and merge it with a high attention to detail and responsiveness to the very intimate and personal nature of a custom home.” With an infinite number of decisions to make, we meticulously made sure that every paint color, fabric, tile and faucet was perfect, and the style flowed throughout the house. 

At first glance, upon entering this graceful home, one sees the grand, handcrafted walnut staircase and a hint of the luxe living space beyond. The bright white kitchen sparkles with natural beauty and the marble counters were hand-selected for the purity of their whiteness. The walnut dining table, which we saw in the New York Design Center, was made to our exact specifications and slid perfectly into the dining area (and was then hand-finished to match the end table in the adjoining living space). In the master suite, the breathtaking closet and dressing area were created to resemble a fancy Parisian boutique. And for the kids, a fully loaded game room and spa-like backyard, complete with decked-out pool-house and lounge, meet all their needs. Talk about custom. The result is a luxury home inside and out.

So what did the Picketts think? “I love that we have a home that reflects our personal style and enriches our lives by providing all of the comfort and convenience for our unique lifestyle,” says Jennifer. Mission accomplished! I couldn’t be prouder.

There’s a pomp and circumstance that one might expect when first meeting anyone with that illustrious and undeniably American last name: Rockefeller. However, from what I recall, the first time I crossed paths with the one-and-only Ariana Rockefeller and her now husband of eight years, Matthew Bucklin, was on—of all places—a rollicking dance floor in celebration of the New York Botanical Garden’s annual Winter Wonderland Ball. Like many New York friendships, it was on the social circuit where Ariana and I first connected as I got my start as a party columnist for a Manhattan newspaper. Since then, I’ve grown to know many more sides of her, and to do so is to understand that she’s much more than just a family name.

To her thousands of Instagram followers, she’s an arbiter of style. This past May, I watched her turn heads on the Met Gala steps for a sea of flashing cameras in a gown designed by Elizabeth Kennedy. Crafted using a generous 50 yards of pink duchess satin, Ariana chose to accessorize with purpose, opting for several heirloom pieces sourced from her grandparents’ collection of rarities, including vintage earrings by Raymond C. Yard and a vintage bracelet by Van Cleef & Arpels. These were, upon first inspection, just beautiful creations, but they also served to draw attention to an upcoming charity auction at Christie’s, one that would ultimately yield a record-breaking $832.6 million—all donated to a group of 12 causes selected by her parents, Peggy and David Rockefeller, themselves.

Away from the cameras, she’s also a seasoned entrepreneur. Under the Ariana Rockefeller moniker, she’s busy designing, manufacturing and distributing her own collection of equestrian-inspired, ready-to-wear clothing and accessories. Last spring, the assortment included a capsule collection of handbags sold exclusively at Dorado Beach, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve resort located on a stretch of sun and sand in Puerto Rico, originally owned by her great-uncle, conservationist Laurance Rockefeller. Opened in 1958, the property was once frequented by the likes of Elizabeth Taylor and JFK, and while we spent a weekend celebrating with a group of friends and clientele alike, Ariana and Matt also took the time for a taste of family history with a visit to her great-uncle’s preserved island residence.

Above all, though, Ariana’s a decorated athlete, one I’ve watched glide over towering oxers with her trusted horse, Out Of Beag, whom she calls Stu. And although she still finds time to pop into Manhattan to support local causes—the ballet, opera and Humane Society among them—and to catch up with friends at her annual holiday party, Ariana has rightfully doubled down on her show jumping participation. It’s grown to include a fierce competition schedule on the global show jumping circuit, as well as a demanding training regimen in the de facto equestrian capitals: Wellington, FL, in the winter and Europe in the summer. This summer, she added two new jumpers to her stable and continued her training with Olympian Laura Kraut, but she has a soft spot for Upstate New York, where her family has ties going back generations. On occasion, she visits the American Farmland Trust in Saratoga Springs, an organization founded by her grandmother, Peggy McGrath Rockefeller.

These wide-ranging elements that make up the life of Ariana Rockefeller blend together seamlessly, and while continuing to honor her distinguished legacy, there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that she’s making a name for herself by gracefully ushering one of America’s first families into the 21st century and beyond. That may be no easy feat, but it’s certain that on all fronts, this Rockefeller is always aiming higher.

What was the name of your first horse? Tell me about him.
Growing up, our family had a horse named Huey. He was a sweet and patient quarter horse that my sister and I loved dearly. He taught us to trust and love horses.

Tell me about your current horse, which you so enthusiastically chronicle on social media.
I currently have three horses in my working string. Out Of Beag is my 14-year-old Irish sport horse gelding. Riosco is a 12-year-old Selle Français gelding, and Chaccadella is my newest addition, an 11-year-old Oldenburg mare. They are all very intelligent, have very sweet personalities, and I’m afraid I spoil them all a bit.

How do you balance your design interests with your passion for riding?
Show jumping is a very mental sport, so when I am competing, I devote all my attention to the horse. So I’m really grateful to the people who support me in my design and equestrian business. Much like equestrian style, my brand’s aesthetic is uniform and classic, so my design work stays streamlined. Keeping things simple is the key for me.

Would you ever consider designing men’s accessories?
I would when the time is right! I envision the AR brand to encompass many lifestyle areas, and am excited to see how it grows in time.

Following the historic Christie’s sale of your grandparents’ collections to benefit 12 designated charities, what are your feelings about their dreams and wishes?
I know that my grandparents would’ve been thrilled with the results of the auction. It was meaningful and thrilling for me to witness my grandpa’s wishes put into action, and the incredible results that will facilitate important philanthropic work. He often spoke of his intentions to me, and I was so pleased to see how Christie’s honored his vision with style and integrity.

So many people prefer animals of all types to other humans. What are your thoughts about that mindset?
I think the connection between humans and animals is a wonderful thing. I do consider my horses friends and family members. I also value the people in my life, especially the team I work with daily, who devote their lives to the horses and the show jumping sport. It is truly a team effort of both people and animals.

What’s the one thing more people should better understand about your beloved horses?
They are powerful creatures with gentle souls. Treat them with respect and kindness.

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Click on the top photo for an exclusive Ariana Rockefeller photo gallery shot on location at Skidmore College’s White Hollow Farm in Stillwater, NY.