“We’re living an adventurous life for less than half of what we’d spend in the US,” says Kirsten Raccuia, an expat based with her husband in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. “And so many things we enjoy all the time would just be occasional, ‘holiday’ activities if we still lived in Chicago. Yet here… it feels like we’re living on permanent vacation.”

For lots of people, that’s the ultimate dream: Arrange your life so you can live on permanent vacation.

Jen Stevens, International Living’s Executive Editor, here. At IL, we’re on a mission to help you do that—whatever your particular “permanent vacation” dream might look like...

Maybe you’d want a place you could retreat to a few months a year, send the kids and your friends to enjoy it when you’re not there (or invite them to come and stay when you’re in residence).

Or rent it out when you’re not using it, and you could cover your costs—or even pocket a profit with it. Or simply go... rent... and enjoy the flexibility of checking out new places...

Maybe you’re after a full-time getaway, a new adventure in a community where the pace, climate, and cost of living suits you.

Maybe your dream is to have multiple bases you can earn income from and visit whenever the weather is best there... a Portugal place where you can golf, a Mexican beach retreat, an Irish cottage by the sea...

Here’s the thing: You can live better overseas. And you can do that at pretty much any budget.

If you’ve yet to get ahold of our full report (150 pages of insight, guidance, and recommendations) on the best places to go in 2026, you can request our Global Retirement Index 2026 with a special, discounted IL offer, here.

It comes down to value... in dollars and cents, for starters. The US is relatively expensive. And so... when you go to a place where things cost less, you can watch your options expand.

Instead of spending $200 a nice meal out for two with appetizers and wine and dessert... that meal might cost you $60 or $80. And that means you can enjoy twice as many fancy nights out. Or you simply have funds leftover to spend any way you like...

Instead of plonking down $1.4 million on a second-home condo with a beach view in Naples, Florida—you could have one in swanky Cabo, Mexico for under $300,000.

Watch Your Quality of Life Improve

But living better isn’t just about spending less. It’s about enjoying life more. It’s about watching your quality of life improve.

And that happens in all sorts of ways...

You could embrace a life that moves at a slower pace, with less stress... so you just feel better.

In so many places, a leisurely lunch out with a friend is something that happens four or five times a week...

Walking in the park in the evening, stopping for a glass of wine, running into the neighbors and lingering to chat... that’s just how days unfold...

It can mean being able to afford “rich people” luxuries—like a housekeeper and gardener—so you never make another bed, empty another trash can, or clean another toilet.

And travel can become so much easier (and less expensive). That’s something to consider, too. When you have an overseas base, it gives you a convenient jumping-off place for exploring, particularly within the region where you’re based.

If you’re in Europe, it’s easy and inexpensive to hop around the continent. Paris for a long weekend—why not? Like the idea of some sun and sand? Head to the Spanish coast for a week.

Ultimately, I’m talking about quality of life—something that, for many people, is diminishing in the States today, where it feels harder than ever to simply keep up.

In fact, one recent study showed that you needed at least $10,000 more in 2024 just to live like you did three years prior.

I don’t know about your health insurance, but ours just doubled... we’ll be paying premiums of $32,000 a year for our family of five. And we still have co-pays and thousands in deductibles. It’s madness.

In communities across California, Colorado, and Washington State, you need a whopping $101,000 a year to be considered a “middle earner.”

Yet in the places we tell you about at International Living, you can live well from as little as $24,000 a year.

Smaller budget. Bigger life.

You’ll find the places we’re most excited about this year in our 2026 Global Retirement Index—which you can access with a special International Living membership offer, here.

A More International Stance Can Provide You Protection (And You Don’t Have to Go Full-Time to Enjoy It)

We are living in uncertain times. And if you’re troubled by the rate of violence in the US... worried about the state of the economy... concerned about the political divisions—or the direction you see the country headed in... take heart...

Look in the right spots, and you’ll find, as I’ve said, more affordable shores—but also, to be clear, often friendlier shores, where the weather and lifestyle might suit you better, as well.

And you don’t have to move full-time—or even at all—to reap the benefits of a more international life. In fact, you can begin to take a more global approach to your life starting today—from right there at home.

That way, no matter what may come of the political, social, and economic conditions in the United States in the years to come, you could have in place a measure of protection.

For instance, consider that you might be eligible for a second passport and not even realize it. (As of 2022, experts estimated that roughly 40% of Americans could qualify for a European passport.) Now, do you need a second passport to live abroad legally? No. But with one, you gain greater flexibility in where you can travel and in how long you can stay—even if, like during the pandemic, our borders close.

Or consider hard assets—like real estate. When you hold real estate (and for that matter physical gold or other metals) in the right way, you don’t need to report that to the IRS. Yet it’s a 100% legal way to effectively move funds outside the stock market, outside the US, outside the dollar. That can give you an effective hedge against a downturn at home.

And—regardless of how things play out in the States—you could end up with an asset you can enjoy and even profit from through appreciation gains and rental income.

It’s Easier than Ever to Move Overseas

If you’re ready to explore your overseas options, you should know: Your timing is good. It’s never been easier to get around this planet of ours. The physical infrastructure is more sophisticated than it has ever been. Airlines fly to more places, smooth roads take you today where no roads existed 20 years ago. Heck you can call an Uber in all kinds of places—from San Miguel de Allende, Mexico to Prague in the Czech Republic—and a guy will roll up and take you exactly where you want to go.

Plus, the internet has changed everything—making a move so much less isolating than it once was. I remember when I moved to Africa in the early 90s—there was one phone in my village. I’d pre-arrange for a call from the States (via mail)... then—at the designated time—I’d show up at the Post Office, where the clerk would get the call behind the desk, and she’d point me to the booth in the corner and patch the call through to me.

Today, you can plant yourself in some far-flung spot if you want to—like a surfing beach in Panama’s Chiriqui province... or a little town nobody’s heard of in the Dordogne in France’s Southwest... and dial up your grandkids on FaceTime so you can attend their piano recital via video in real time.

Online you can move money around in the blink of an eye. You can decipher foreign words by simply pointing your phone at them. It’s all rendered the world at once bigger and smaller—and altogether easier, really—when it comes to navigating new places.

It’s never been easier to be an expat. If you feel the “pull” to try on a new place for size... even if only for a few months a year... do it! It’s easier than you think—when you have the right tools.

And the best tool to start with is International Living’s 2026 Global Retirement Index. It’s the 35^th year we’ve pulled this guide together. Inside we rank, rate, compare, and contrast 24 countries across seven categories. And we do it with an eye to producing useful insights.

We keep correspondents around the globe—folks who live in the places they talk about. So they’re on the ground—buying their groceries, renting apartments, making friends, learning the language. And they’re uniquely qualified to share with you insights you can use to help match what you’re looking for in a retirement with a real-world place on the ground where you could make it your reality.

Don’t wait to start exploring your overseas options. The world isn’t standing still, and neither should you. Use this time to start putting your “ducks in a row,” to start exploring what your best options would be.

There’s no perfect, one-size-fits-all destination. But I feel 100% confident that you can find a place that suits you well. And at International Living, we can help make that happen.

Here’s the best place to start: Get plugged in to all our International Living guidance, starting with the 2026 Global Retirement Index, yours free with this special offer.

Over the past few months, we’ve loved posting here — sharing personal stories, dispatches from our writers around the world, and glimpses into the lives of people living abroad. Substack has been a wonderful space for conversation and connection, and we’re grateful you’ve been here with us.

But as IL takes on some big new projects, we’ve had to make decisions about where we focus our time and creative energy. After a lot of discussion, we’ve made the decision to pause posting on this Substack channel for now.

That said, this isn’t the end — far from it.

We’ve just launched something brand new.

A completely redesigned, reimagined International Living magazine experience — something more immersive, more modern, and more useful than anything we’ve done before.

This new experience includes:

• A fresh, beautifully updated design

• A smoother, easier reading experience on all devices

• Articles laid out like a true digital magazine

• Monthly issues delivered directly to your inbox

• Bonus stories, guides, and on-the-ground insights

• Access to our full digital library

It’s everything we loved about this Substack — and much more.

A thank-you gift just for our Substack readers

To show our appreciation for being early supporters of this space, we’re offering an exclusive special offer for Substack subscribers who want to join us on the new platform. Click here.

This offer is only available to people who followed us here, because you were the first to say: “Yes, I’m interested in stories of life abroad.”

What happens next?

This Substack will remain here as an archive of past posts, and you’re welcome to revisit anything you enjoyed. But going forward, all new IL stories, dispatches, and magazine issues will be shared through our new platform.

If you’ve liked what we’ve done here, we think you’ll love what’s coming next.

Thank you again.

Thank you for reading, commenting, sharing, and simply being here. This community means a lot to us — and we very much hope you’ll join us in the new space.

Click below to come with us on the next leg of the journey: LINK

Warm regards,

The International Living Team

It’s a fruit to be reckoned with: brilliant in color, sweet-tasting with a hint of bitterness, medium spicy progressing in intensity as it lingers in the mouth. The Piment d’Espelette is one of the most important and best-known symbols of the Basque Country, cultivated with loving care and pride for centuries in southwest France.

So when I heard the annual Fête du Piment was taking place in nearby Espelette, a picturesque village nestled in the foothills of the Pyrenees, I made my plans.

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Due to the scarcity of available parking, we left our car at a farm in a nearby village, then took a shuttle to the festival location. Not only were passenger vehicles parked at a distance from Espelette, but numerous tour buses from other areas also had designated parking. That made sense when we learned that an estimated 20,000 visitors would attend over the course of the two-day event. As our driver dropped us off, he said to note where we were (Zone B) and that the last shuttle pickup was at 8:00 p.m. It was just early afternoon, so there would be plenty of time to stroll, eat, drink, and shop.

The Fête du Piment is organized by the Confrérie du Piment d’Espelette, a brotherhood founded in 1969, which promotes and raises awareness of chili peppers. We were there on Sunday, the second day of the festival, when the Confrérie invited other brotherhoods from the region to take part in a colorful parade. Afterwards, an induction ceremony for new members would take place, as well as the awarding of the Chili Pepper Prize. Earlier, there had been a solemn mass at Saint Stephen’s church, a chorale presentation, drumming fanfare, and a blessing of the peppers. There would be strolling musicians, regional products for sale all day, and in late afternoon, a bare-handed Basque pelota game.

Anticipating that we would make some purchases, our first step was the acquisition of a souvenir burlap tote bag. Next, we bought one of the picture-perfect strings of peppers so prominently displayed at numerous stands, which are hung to dry outside the traditional red and green half-timbered houses in town. Passing an appetizing food stand, I made a note that later I would treat myself to a baguette with brebis, an aged, hard local cheese (€5,50) and a glass of wine (€2,50).

But first I wanted to know—why all the fuss about this plucky pepper? Is it native to Basque Country? If not, where was its origin?

At the Interpretation Center on the grounds, we learned that the chili traveled from Mexico to Europe with Christopher Columbus, making its debut in France in the 16th century. By 1650, it happily took root in the welcoming climate around Espelette in the Basque region: significant rainfall, mild temperatures, and the famous “Haize Hegoa” southerly wind.

We read about the European certification that guarantees the authenticity and quality of Piment d’Espelette: AOP stands for Appellation d’Origine Protégée (Protected Designation of Origin). The Scoville Scale measures the pungency of peppers, and Piment d’Espelette is four on a scale of ten, which gives it its subtle warm—not hot—quality.

Afterwards we strolled around, passing clusters of visitors sipping glasses of chilled white wine. Various kiosks offered everything from jewelry to soaps to kambucha to grilled meats. We debated about the purchase of some Gâteau Basque, a simple flat cake spread with either black cherry jam or pastry cream, then topped with a second flat disc of cake.

But what really got my attention was a stand serving cups of Aligot de l’Aubrac, a creamy, melted concoction. The cheese, Tome de Laguiole, comes from the Massif Central plateau in south-central France, a famed cattle region. The Irish in me was interested in the potatoes involved. In addition to cheese and potatoes, the cup, priced at €5, also consists of butter, heavy cream, and a hint of garlic. (Basically, it’s your calorie allotment, not for several meals, but for several days.) Its history dates back to the Middle Ages, when the monks of Aubrac offered a soup made of bouillon, bread, and fresh cheese to pilgrims on the Way of Saint James, ending in Compostela, Spain.

Branching off from the steady stream of tourists, we stopped to check out the goodies in a health food store in town. There were various organic items available—produce, meats, and cheeses. We came away with two small steaks, piment-flavored potato chips, and a jar of spices featuring, of course, the ubiquitous chili pepper.

Three hours had passed since our arrival, and now I had no room for a sandwich. We were ready to head back to Zone B, armed with our treasures, photos, videos, and memories.

If you’re interested in joining the festivities next year, I suggest making reservations for lodging well in advance. The dates for the Fête du Piment 2026 have not yet been set, but generally, it occurs on the final weekend of October. One thing is for sure: Espelette will continue its time-honored tradition, and locals and visitors alike will once again savor it all.

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— Tricia Pimental, a former actress and Toastmaster, who has written two memoirs and a novel in addition to two books on Portugal.

Thinking about exploring France beyond the usual stops? Discover hidden gems like Espelette and get insider advice on living abroad with International Living. Subscribe here today.

I had driven over two hours on a special mission for my wife and now found myself deep within a working-class neighborhood in the bowels of big-city Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico.

It was early morning. The neighborhood was awakening, stretching, and beginning to move. Uniformed schoolchildren walked along in small groups, laughing and talking as they headed to school. I passed a large public hospital, men and women dressed in green and maroon medical scrubs like bees entering a hive, hovering around entrances while others found their way inside to deal with their medical conditions.

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Street vendors manning small, wheeled carts sold tacos, carnitas, and tortas to those entering, while I jockeyed for position in the slow-moving, moderate traffic. Motorbikes and cars dueled with commercial delivery trucks and taxis. The narrow streets were cratered with deep potholes, impossible to avoid, and the ubiquitous speed bumps, called topes (TOE-pays), guarantee at least two front-end alignments each year and more frequent suspension maintenance. My progress was frequently halted by commercial trucks making deliveries to the hundreds of small local businesses that make up Mexican neighborhoods.

Driving in Mexico’s cities takes ample amounts of caution and bravery, with the understanding that traffic laws are merely unenforced suggestions. Lane changes can happen at any time, at any speed, under any conditions, for no apparent reason, despite obvious collision hazards. Yielding seems unknown, and reflexes are regularly tested, adding some spice to my Spanish vocabulary.

Zoning laws, as you might think of them, do not exist here. Homes and apartments are randomly mixed with motorcycle repair shops and tiny markets. Small, colorful flags beckon you to family-owned restaurants, and a plethora of mixed signage directs you to cell phone stores, doctor and dental offices, electricians, and plumbers. Sometimes the source of the blaring music cannot be located. These are not the spotless streets of Japan, and the remnants of eviscerated trash bags can be seen as evidence of local street dogs scrounging for food.

These neighborhoods are wonderful, experiential journeys meant to be inhaled and absorbed through your skin; tasted and savored like a thick, rich cultural stew, sprinkled with hanging laundry and boisterous, good-natured banter between neighbors. This is not the pristine beach life or resort experience often portrayed in advertisements and seen by tourists. This is the neighborhood where the employees of those resorts live and raise their families.

Schools, churches, bakeries, and barbershops are part and parcel of life here, and it all works to create a vibrant, condensed, multi-sensory kaleidoscope.

It felt safe and welcoming, like my favorite aunt’s house. No fear or perceived threats, but rather a busy yet peaceful space filled with laughter, smiles, and congeniality everywhere I looked. People coexisting, arms entwined.

Parking is always a challenge in Mexico’s cities, with parallel parking being the only option along narrow streets. You must become an expert at quickly and successfully squeezing your car into tiny spaces. Many locals simply walk, take a taxi, or use a bicycle or small motorbike.

My task this morning was to purchase a number of antique window frames my wife had found advertised on Facebook Marketplace. Diane is an artistic spirit. If you know someone like this, you know what I’m talking about. Perhaps her most prolific gift is photography. Give that woman a camera, or even a cell phone with a decent camera, and she will capture a photo of a common object, like a door or a window, in a way that makes you gasp. She lives in the same world as I, yet she doesn’t see it the same. Artists are special people.

These antique window frames I sought, once cleaned up, will hang on the interior walls of our home, showcasing some of her favorite, or maybe my favorite, photos from the hundreds she has amassed. I was looking forward to bringing them to her.

I also realized that I wanted to deliberately absorb this experience. My daily life in a tiny Maya village is certainly interesting, wonderful, in fact, but I wanted to soak up all that I could from this morning’s adventure.

Some of these people will not travel more than a few miles from this neighborhood for their entire lives. There is no need. Everything they need is right here, including several generations of family.

Google Maps delivered me to my destination, or close enough, in this congested area. It would be a private residence, and what I saw was a row of twelve or thirteen similar entrance doors leading into small, attached homes about ten to twelve feet apart. No visible numbers on these older, decaying block-and-stone structures, but I knew I was close. I found a temporary parking place, blocking the entrance to something, and sent a text message to the seller, telling her I was parked on the street. In just a few minutes, a woman appeared about twenty-five yards away, waving and pointing.

I pulled ahead and found one of those tiny parking spaces directly in front of an entrance door. I utilized my well-practiced parking skills to squeeze in with a couple of extra feet to spare.

After a brief introduction, I was invited inside. The antique windows were stacked and staggered, leaning against the wall. I knew Diane would love them. We concluded our business, which had been quite cordial and ended with a combination handshake and light hug, the seller complimenting my Spanish-speaking skills (polite but unwarranted).

I would not be surprised if I was the first U.S. expat this woman and her mother had met, a possibility I always try to remember in all my interactions with the citizens of the country that is hosting me.

To them, I personally represent the entirety of the United States of America, and these days, that feels like an important responsibility.

If you find yourself living outside the United States, I encourage you to live like a sponge, absorbing all you can. The best experiences are almost always found outside your comfort zone. Get off the beaten path, get into the neighborhoods, and practice your second language.

You can benefit from being both a sponge and a mirror, reflecting the best version of your home country.

— Don Murray

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Editor’s Note: If this story resonated, share it with a fellow traveler, or anyone dreaming of a richer life overseas. For more real-world expat insights, subscribe to International Living and get the latest stories straight to your inbox.

We hadn’t factored in the 8:19 am sunrise in the far west of Ireland in late October when we decided to leave at 7:00 am to drive east, back to Waterford.

In the dark. In the rain. On a shockingly narrow road. Driving on the left. The headlights of oncoming traffic coming at us on the disconcerting right...

It was like something out of a video game... my Pat with two hands white knuckled on the steering wheel, careening around tight curve after tight curve, going about 20 km an hour faster than seemed prudent, to keep up with the local traffic...

I felt like I got a core workout just sitting in the passenger seat, every muscle in my body clenched.

“Well, we’ve successfully slingshotted out of Dingle,” Pat said once the sun started brightening the sky, the rain abated, the road widened and straightened out... and he allowed himself to stretch his fingers...

That was the stressful part... the rest of our Dingle adventure was a pleasure...

The Dingle Peninsula is just one small part of Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way, a dramatic drive that includes the whole of the west coast.

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From Dingle Town, you can spend a thoroughly satisfying day driving the peninsula—best done clockwise, the authorities say, with the coast to your left so as to avoid as much oncoming traffic as possible. And, too, best done at half the posted speed limit, stopping at the occasional pull-off to park the car and walk a bit and admire the views...

Along the way you’ll find “beehive huts,” which date to as far back as 800 AD. These ancient corbelled, stacked-stone ruins are built in increasingly concentric circles until the stones meet at the top to form a roof. The wind will be whipping as you climb up the hill to walk among the ancient stones and imagine how, 1,200 years ago, somebody else certainly stood where you stood, admiring the same dramatic view of a roiling sea.

We headed to the Great Blasket Centre, where the exhibits and movie provide a concrete sense for the trials of life at the far western edge of Europe, on the islands just offshore. You can see how, hunkered down against the wind and cold, poets and musicians are made. The Centre celebrates them and the traditional way of life that kept the Irish language and heritage alive on the islands.

Hard to believe that for so long the people here navigated these ferocious seas in simple row boats. These Irish are of seriously rugged stock.

We less-sturdy visitors required sustenance and stopped for a friendly lunch of fish and chips among locals at Kruger’s, billed as Europe’s most westerly pub. We marveled at what to us was the utterly incomprehensible Gaelic (or Irish, as the Irish say) being spoken at the next table over...

Properly sated, we piled back in the car for more Atlantic drama before a turn inland on a one-lane, hedge-lined road back to Dingle Town... and by one lane, I mean one single track on which a single car fits, though cars are, in fact, driving in two directions. You must have a keen eye for bail-out areas. A good thing the Irish are friendly.

Along the coast before the turn, you can pull off and look out to Clogher Head, a promontory of land where puffins and cormorants flock and where parts of Star Wars VIII were filmed. Alas, we saw neither sea birds nor jedi in the distance... just a long, hilly stretch of land that felt like the end of the earth.

If you plan to visit, buy a paper map of Ireland—don’t rely purely on Google Maps. It’s good to have an old-school understanding of the lay of the land. (We bought one before we left and brought it with us.) The roads will be color-coded by relative size (something the Google Map won’t show you). Google will send you on the shortest path, no matter how charmingly dinky the road. I will say from experience: Unless you’re going but a short distance, you’re likely to want more asphalt to share. A paper map will help you find the bigger roadways.

You can take a bus to Dingle if driving isn’t your cup of tea. But even then, the map would be useful, just to better orient yourself.

On our way back to Waterford and Dublin, we stopped on the outskirts of Tralee to walk the ground where Pat’s people came from—poor farmers who sought a better life in America and boarded a ship in the late 19th century to find work on the railroads...

The script on the weathered headstones in the cemetery was unreadable, so we couldn’t say if any Aherns were buried there or not, though the ancestry research Pat had done indicated they most likely were.

Still, there was something oddly convivial about walking in the lane and through the field where his great grandparents had most likely walked... as the sun came through the clouds and a rainbow seemed to proffer a little bit of Irish luck...

— Jennifer Stevens, IL Executive Editor

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P.S. If Ireland is on your mind, as it is ours, check out our new Passport to Ireland resource, an in-depth look at how to get an Irish passport... guidance on where and what to visit on this friendly, green island... how to stay legally for a few months or a few years... and lots more. We have a special offer on the table that saves you 50% right here.

“The Irish will play any instrument that washes up on their shores better than the people who invented it.” – Steve Earle, songwriter and musician

A couple months ago, my husband, kiddo #3, and I went to hear Steve Earle play in a small space in Colorado—just him and a guitar. Turns out, it was half-concert, half library story hour, the whole evening unfolding like a spoken-word autobiography with songs and opinions tucked in between the vignettes.

He admires Irish musicians—and so do we...

It’s easy to do. We sat in Nelligan’s Bar in Dingle this past Tuesday evening, listening to a dozen locals sit in a circle and play—a grandmotherly accordion player, a young man barely in his 20s on guitar, a tall young woman with a long Irish flute, a white-haired fellow, his arm pumping the uilleann pipes... guitars, fiddles, and more. Steve Earle was right...

Dingle is rich with music, even now, at the tail end of the shoulder season.

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The night before, we’d enjoyed a fine dinner of oysters, mussels, sole and scallops at the warm, low-ceilinged Half Door Restaurant, where brass pots hang on the wall and brass pitchers over the bar. A gentle soundtrack—part American, part Irish—played through dinner, and when we mentioned we were enjoying the music, our server allowed as how it was his colleague, Julian, singing.

(For an audio peek into our Dingle experience, give a listen to Julian Bolan and his twin brother—they call themselves, appropriately, Brother.)

In search of live music, Julian told us to duck into The Courthouse (and you really do need to duck)—but it was quiet. The friendly bartender reported that the gentleman who usually plays there had been in earlier for a pint on his way to play at Adams Bar.

So he sent us off to Adams to find him, which we did... thoroughly enjoyable, but we arrived toward the end of his evening... which is how we ended up at Nelligan’s, by following the sound of the “trad session” there spilling out into the street...

You really gotta love a town of only 2,000 people that offers up this many good musical options on an average weeknight.

We so enjoyed Dingle’s end-of-season vibe—one local told us: “This is the best time to be here. It’s not so crowded, and there’s still the possibility each day that the sun will come out.” Admittedly, there’s also the possibility that it won’t, but we got lucky. It rained very little, and we did, indeed, see the sun.

Shops and restaurants were open, and while a few tour buses parked down by the harbor had brought tourists for day-trip visits, we had the main streets mostly to ourselves. And in the evenings, in particular, the town was largely ours.

Even at the best restaurants, it was possible to drop in and get a table. (Though word to the wise: the best tables go to those who reserve in advance.)

In addition to the convivial Half Door—we ate well across the street from it at Land to Sea, a Michelin Bib Gourmand pick, which earned its nod—my husband’s lamb was excellent, and I’m still talking about my chicken and mushroom pate appetizer.

We kept gravitating to the same block—you’ll find excellent seafood pasta at Doyle’s, just next door to The Half Door.

And if you like oysters, you’ll find them in abundance—at every restaurant—and my husband tried them all...

Dingle is a foodie town, no question—which marks the “official” end of the season each year with a food festival in early October. Next year’s Dingle Food Festival is set for October 2-4, 2026.

We’re sorely tempted to return for it. Though if we decide to do that, we’ll book accommodation well in advance as it’s limited in town. (And being right in town, as we were, was a boon. No need to take the car out after dark or to walk a long way in the rain.)

We stayed in an Airbnb on a quiet street—and you’ll also find a few B&Bs and hotels in the heart of the action. A group of holiday cottages with views marks the edge of town, and we chatted up a retired American from Wisconsin who said he and his college buddies had rented what he described as a “massive, luxurious house” they were walking to with headlamps on—looking like they were in for a bit of a hike.

So you do have a range of overnight options... but again, I’d say right in-town is your best bet.

During the day, however, you’ll want to venture farther afield. The Wild Atlantic Way is at your doorstep... and worth every harrowing turn.

— Jennifer Stevens, IL Executive Editor

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P.S. If Ireland is on your mind, as it is ours, check out our new Passport to Ireland resource, an in-depth look at how to get an Irish passport... guidance on where and what to visit on this friendly, green island... how to stay legally for a few months or a few years... and lots more. We have a special offer on the table that saves you 50% right here.

Nothing had prepared us for Montenegro.

As our cruise ship slid through the narrow straits of Boka Bay, mountains soared high above the water, dotted with wooden fishermen’s boats and rocky, church-topped islands.

The walled, moated, millennia-old city of Kotor lay at the base of those mountains. After deboarding, I half expected a galloping medieval knight to emerge from among the stone arches. Instead, my family and I met our guide for the day, Dennis.

For €85 each, we’d be taken in a 4×4 to visit the stone village of Gornji Stoliv to sample some local Montenegrin foods. The tour included a 20-minute “off road” adventure—a bit gimmicky, I thought, but then again, we were on a cruise. We’d embraced gimmicky a long time ago.

Only one road led in and out of the walled city—and we were soon on that road, leaving our ship far behind. Dennis hugged the shoulder as we passed a smattering of fisherman’s enclaves and thatched-patio restaurants overlooking Boka Bay, then made a sharp left turn into what looked like the alleyway between two stone homes.

The Pathfinder ground to a halt here. Mud splattered from the tires as we barreled from the alleyway into a forest, engine roaring as we tackled vertical slopes. Clutching the handrails, I glanced back at my husband and daughter, who were bobbing up and down like a pair of marionettes.

“This is the road leading to the village,” said Dennis.

Road? A very generous definition. More like a collection of cliff-hanging switchbacks and nail-biting curves. There were no tourist traps or gimmicks here.

Dennis explained that, at one point, the village of Gornji Stoliv counted around 1,200 residents—until 1979, when a devastating earthquake toppled many of the homes and forced villagers to move. Most stayed away. Although a local organization was invested in the revitalization of the village, the current population was… a mere four residents.

We emerged from the Pathfinder to find ourselves bathed in natural splendor. A thick grove of chestnut trees spread out before us, intermingled with stone homes topped with terracotta roofs and laced with camellia flowers. A relatively rare plant, camellia was brought by seed-baring seafarers from Japan at the end of the 18th century, and the flowers remain one of the key symbols of the village.

Ducking under a trio of olive trees, our small group skirted along a delicate stone path to the pièce de résistance of Gornji Stoliv: a heart-stopping view of Boka Bay from an altitude of nearly 790 feet. Our ship in the distance was dwarfed by the lush, towering mountains.

Enveloped in total silence, save for a few chirping birds and the subtle clank clank of two cow bells that resonated throughout the valley—their owners rested casually under the shady trees below us—it was a lost-in-time moment.

Dennis led us to the parish church of St. Elijah, the other standout attraction of the village. Built between the 15th and 16th centuries, with a bell tower that still strikes the hour, the church is famed for three altarpieces by the Slovenian artist Josipa Tominc.

As we tracked back to a large stone home at the entrance to Gornji Stoliv, Dennis explained the origins of the name Stoliv. “It means one hundred olive trees,” he said. “In Montenegrin, sto oliva.”

As the legend goes, every man in Gornji Stoliv had to plant one hundred olive trees in order to marry. The trees proved the man’s wealth to the townsfolk in Kotor, who were wary of sending their daughters to the mystical village on the mountain.

Stanko, Gornji Stoliv’s unofficial statesman, greeted us outside his home… which also serves as the village’s lone café. Along a large wooden terrace with two picnic tables overlooking the sea, we drank Montenegrin beer and tasted herb-covered olives, cured ham, and thick slabs of brie-like cheese—all produced by Stanko himself.

While watching the sailboats leave sleek wakes around the rock islands of Boka Bay, my family fell in love with the charms of Kotor and its “lost” stone village. Book your own trip here.

—Tuula Rampont

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Editor’s Note: This story first appeared in the latest issue of International Living magazine. Every month, we share inspiring travel tales, expat insights, and practical guidance on living overseas. If you’d like more stories like this delivered straight to you, consider subscribing to International Living today.

Waking before sunrise in Placencia, I do my stretching routine, then open the curtains just as the light begins to brighten the sky. Upstairs, I make an espresso, and my husband pours himself a brewed coffee. Then we head to the rooftop, coffees, journals, and books in hand, to enjoy the sea breeze, hear the birds, and watch the fishermen head out to sea.

The Kiskadee bird screeches “good morning,” as the Caribbean Mockingbirds dance in the sand, their wings spread wide, facing each other. Are they mating? Fighting? No matter, they are lovely. Then one of the lobster boats putters down the canal, piled high with canoes, fishermen, and drying clothes on the ropes, they will head out to the reef, where they will each tie themselves to a canoe, and dive for lobster, bringing their haul back to sell at the pier.

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The sea breeze on our rooftop tells what the day will hold. If it’s already warm, if we can’t see the mountains, we know the air will be thick with humidity. If it is cool and the mountains are visible, the moisture will be less.

My husband, Steve, is a runner, and I love to walk. By 7 a.m., we are crossing our canal and heading out to the village’s main road, which, according to the Guinness Book of World Records, is actually the narrowest road in the world—what most would call a sidewalk. This heads right through the village, passing shops, still closed, small hotels, and coffee shops. Sometimes, I slip a few dollars in my pocket and stop for a coffee along the way, because why not? Another possibility is the guy selling Johnny cakes. If he has bean and cheese, I’m in.

Once home, we both do whatever work we need to do, then it’s back off to the village for shopping.

Steve rows us across the canal, we hop into the golf cart, and we’re on our way. First stop, our favorite coffee shop, Chillpoint, to meet up with friends for a chat. One of our friends just bought a cabinet shop and brought samples to show us of a Mayan king cut into a square, which will eventually become the pattern on a door. Lots of people meet up here and spend the morning chatting or working. It’s become a morning hub of the village for both expats and locals. Including the writer’s group I started, which meets twice a month.

Next, we head to one of the grocery stores to buy a few cabinet staples. Since almost everything in the grocery store is imported, the prices are higher than in the States, but that’s the price of living in paradise, so we really don’t mind.

Now it’s time to think about lunch. Bohemian for pizza or fish sandwiches, or Ricks for a Greek salad. Then again, we might choose one of the mom-and-pop places for salbutes or burritos. What will it be today? Lots of choices here in Placencia.

After lunch, we head to one of the veggie stands to stock up for the next several days. My husband and I eat primarily plant-based, so the majority of our shopping happens at one of the stands. There I find dried beans, potatoes, tomatoes, eggplant, squash, onions, and so much more.

Fruit is abundant, including even apples, imported from Mexico, but nice to have in addition to the papaya, pineapple, and bananas that grow abundantly in Belize. Like other fruits, mangoes, dragon fruit, passion fruit, and mangosteen also appear in the markets during their respective seasons. Mangosteen is my favorite fruit of all time. The mangosteen arrives around the first of August and is gone by the end of the month, but they are delicious and well worth the wait.

After an afternoon lie down, because let’s face it, there’s nothing better than a slow afternoon, we head to the pool in our row of townhouses, and float for a while. When the neighbors are in residence, the pool is the meet-up place for a leisurely afternoon. As the sun sinks behind the buildings, we head inside for cleanup and cocktail hour on the rooftop—a great way to start the evening. But just as likely, we head to the village for a cocktail at Agave, or the beach bar at Turtle Inn. Both have beautiful views of the sea.

Last, we head to dinner, maybe at the quintessential beach bar, Barefoot, or to a fancier meal at Rum Fish, where the coffee rubbed fish is out of this world—because I do occasionally indulge in a locally caught fish dish. But I’m just as likely to order the vegetable curry, or the vegetable tostones. The one thing our visitors always tell us before they leave is how much they have loved the food they’ve had in Belize. The meal completed, we drive home, settle in, and call it a great day.

This can be your kind of day too. It’s waiting for you, right here in Belize. Cheers.

—Jane Thompson Hassenmueller, IL Belize Correspondent

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Editor’s Note: Discover how Jane and her husband built a peaceful, affordable life in Placencia, Belize—where ocean views, vibrant community, and a laid-back lifestyle start at just $1,300 a month. Read her full story here.

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Roughly translated, pajarete means “early bird,” and that’s what you have to be to find it.

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Farmers set up rudimentary milking stands next to their fields, or bring a pick-up truck full of goats to a busy spot and set up shop, usually around 7:30 a.m. Once you know what you’re looking for, they’re easy to spot; this early in the morning, there’s not much else going on.

Customers choose from a potpourri of flavorings to spoon into their empty cup—instant coffee, sweetened powdered chocolate, sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, crumbled peanut marzipan—and then add pajarete’s infamous high-proof cane alcohol, as much or as little as you like.

Next, you take your cup to a waiting goat. The warm, almost-hot milk is squeezed straight from the doe’s fat, swollen pink udder into your cup. The resulting beverage is warm and sweet, topped with a frothy head. Depending on how much alcohol you’ve added, it can definitely pack a punch.

Are there medicinal benefits?

After a raucous Saturday night of drinking, pajarete is the local “hair-of-the-dog.” But since alcohol is optional, whole families partake. Some, like me, carefully add just a teaspoon, and I still felt a buzz…

The raw, unpasteurized, unadulterated milk is the essence of the drink, and locals say it gives them an energy boost. The alcohol is also said to kill any bacteria in the milk. (I imagine it would also kill many other things in your system.) Studies show the proteins in goat milk have anti-inflammatory effects, which can combat conditions like asthma, allergies, and arthritis. It’s also high in calcium and vitamin D. At the very least, pajarete is a simple, delicious pleasure.

After 18 years of living in Mexico, I still get excited about trying artisanal foods and experiencing the customs of this colorful, ancient country.

If you’re visiting Mexican states like Jalisco, Michoacán, and Guanajuato (think cities like Guadalajara, Sayulita, Puerto Vallarta, San Miguel de Allende, or Morelia), ask a local where to find pajarete and be prepared to head out early, say 7 or 7:30 a.m.

Look for a health certificate posted somewhere or gently ask to see one; they should be cleaning the teats between milkings with a damp cloth. I paid 35 pesos (about $2) for an 8 oz. cup.

Drinking pajarete is a festive affair, and Sunday mornings are the most popular day. Any morning is fair game, though, should one care to start their day with a bit of a bang.

—Janet Blaser

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After nearly two decades living on Mexico’s Pacific Coast, Janet began craving a slower rhythm—a place where mornings were calm, the neighbors said hello, and life felt beautifully simple again. She found it in San Antonio Tlayacapan, a lakeside village tucked between Chapala and Ajijic in central Mexico.

In her story, Why I Traded the Pacific Coast for a Quieter Life in San Antonio Tlayacapan, Janet shares what inspired the move, how she found her colorful two-bedroom casita, and what day-to-day life looks like now in one of Mexico’s most welcoming expat communities.

👉 Read Janet’s full story here and see why the Lake Chapala region continues to capture so many hearts—and how it might just capture yours, too.

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My name’s Ryan, and I live in Phnom Penh, Cambodia—but this week, I’m in Siem Reap, one of the country’s most livable cities and, as it turns out, one of its most underrated places to retire.

My wife and I have been in Cambodia for about four and a half years. She teaches, and lately, we’ve been having the same conversation many couples have at this stage of life: Where do we want to end up when she retires?

Siem Reap keeps coming up.

It’s got everything—Western-style cafés, restaurants, grocery stores—and still holds on to the charm of Southeast Asia. Life here feels both comfortable and exotic, and best of all, affordable.

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Life Between Temples and Tuk-Tuks

This morning, I walked through Wat Bo, a temple complex alive with color and sound for the Chum Ben holiday. People were coming and going in the rain, bringing food for the monks and taking time to pray. In Cambodia, there are really only two seasons: hot and wet. The downpours can be intense, but they don’t last long. Everything is lush and green afterward.

Expats love the Wat Bo neighborhood because it’s right near the action—five or ten minutes from Pub Street, the Old Market, and the river. The city’s crown jewel, Angkor Wat, is just a short drive or bike ride away. And if you’ve lived here for two years, you can visit it all for free. Imagine having the world’s largest religious monument practically in your backyard.

A Look at Local Living

I stopped by a small apartment complex to get a sense of housing costs. The first unit—a furnished one-bedroom with balconies, a Western-style bathroom, and plenty of natural light—rents for about $600 a month on a six-month lease. The two-bedroom version runs about $850, with access to a pool and gym included.

For those on a smaller budget, there are plenty of simpler options. My friend Sean, a Canadian expat, pays $250 a month for his downtown apartment, just a four-minute walk to Pub Street. “It’s everything I need,” he says. Electricity runs him about $50, and he estimates his total monthly expenses at around $500 to $600, including meals, movies, and the occasional night out.

He’s not exaggerating about how far money stretches here:

• A restaurant meal: $1–$3

• Draft beer: 50–75 cents

• Coffee: about $1

• Movie ticket: $1–$3.50

And if you don’t feel like walking, a 15-minute tuk-tuk ride across town costs about 75 cents.

Easy Days, Active Lifestyles

Later, we hit the Royal Sports Club, a massive complex with tennis courts, pickleball, paddle, basketball, and a full gym. Courts rent for about $10 an hour ($20 after 4 p.m.), but if you split that with friends, it’s just a couple of dollars each. Health and fitness are easy here—daily walks along the river, yoga in the park, and open-air exercise machines scattered around the city.

Dining in Siem Reap

When it comes to food, variety is the rule. One day it’s Chinese noodles for $3.75, the next a mango-avocado salad or a plate of fried noodles for under $3. We found perfect Sunday roasts for $8 and big breakfasts (coffee included) for $5. The French influence lingers, too—you can pick up fresh pasta or quiche at Paris Bakery.

Eating well here isn’t a luxury. It’s just daily life.

The Expat Perspective

In the evening, I caught up with friends Jeremy and Claire, who’ve lived here for several years. They’ve also spent time in Phnom Penh, Kampot, and Kep, but Siem Reap, they say, strikes the best balance.

“It’s not as busy as Phnom Penh,” Jeremy told me, “but it’s much easier to live than Kampot or Kep. You can get to a great restaurant in ten minutes and still live quietly.”

Claire added, “The expat community here is diverse. You find retirees, teachers, people in NGOs, a real mix of men and women. It feels balanced and welcoming.”

Quiet Charm, Global Access

By morning, I was back on the riverfront, walking past joggers and cyclists. Siem Reap is one of the few Cambodian cities with real sidewalks—and bike lanes. Along the way, I passed banyan trees wrapped in colorful fabric, locals doing their morning workouts, and even a tree full of bats known as “flying foxes.”

It’s calm, green, and full of culture. At night, the city lights up again—Pub Street, karaoke rooms, cozy bars tucked into narrow alleys. There’s always something to do, but no sense of rush.

Life here feels slower, easier, more intentional.

If you’re thinking about early retirement, or just stretching your dollar while living somewhere warm, friendly, and filled with history, Siem Reap might surprise you.

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“When an elephant claims the right of way, give it to him.” That was my advice to my nervous stepfather, who was behind the wheel as we wound our way northward through South Africa’s magnificent wildlife-filled Kruger Park. In the road was a young bull elephant coming toward us—and he showed no sign of stopping to let us pass.

I told my stepdad to throw it into reverse and back up slowly… just a little bit faster than the elephant. Sure enough, eventually the pachyderm got bored and wandered off into the bush.

Many foreigners associate South Africa with adventures like these. But as extraordinary as these wildlife encounters are, they’re just part of what South Africa has to offer. There’s also world-class wine… mountains and valleys indistinguishable from the South of France… flavorsome cuisines … and some of the world’s best surf spots.

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Why I Made South Africa My Home

My family and I live in a 175-year-old farm cottage in a village called Muizenberg, built of stone quarried from the Table Mountain chain which looms above it. Muizenberg is part of greater Cape Town and famous for its beach, the most popular surfing spot in the region. It has the sort of hippie, bohemian vibe you’d associate with California’s Venice Beach.

I came to South Africa as a 20-year-old American looking for adventure and fell in love with the place at once. I’ve been living here for over 40 years, married a local, and became a citizen.

South Africans are a rambunctious but honest bunch, and some of the friendliest and most hospitable people on the planet.

There are still plenty of poor people in South Africa, but fortunately, the cost of living is much lower than in many other places, including the US. Staples like bread, rice, milk and eggs are half to one quarter of the price you’d pay in a major US city. A meal at a decent restaurant will cost you about 20% of what you’d pay in the US. Mobile phone and Internet costs are about 1/3 of the US. Whether renting or buying, Apartments and homes go for about 85% less than they do in the US.

Of course, this is hardly a perfect country. It’s one of the world’s most unequal societies. The national government and most provincial governments are corrupt and inefficient. (The Western Cape, where Cape Town is, is a well-run outlier.) But none of this prevents South Africa from being a premier tourist destination.

South Africa is also an attractive destination for “snowbirds,” people who buy homes here and come down for the southern hemispheric summer between November and April. And we’re likely to see more foreign residents: the government has just announced its intention to create a digital nomad visa, as well as a long-term independent means/retirement residency permit.

Just the other day, I ran into a young American couple in one of the delightful stone tidal pools that dot the coast of False Bay between Muizenberg and Kalk Bay, a fishing village with a serious old-time feel a few miles to the South.

That’s because there are now 21 weekly flights from the US to South Africa, both to Johannesburg and direct to Cape Town. The total flight time from Atlanta to Cape Town is about 18 hours and 30 minutes—admittedly a lot. But I’ve done it dozens of times, and it’s not as bad as it sounds. Every time I take it, I just focus on what’s going to be at the end of that journey.

A True Wild Kingdom

As a kid growing up on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, I watched a show called Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. I was too young to know that the more adventurous scenes were staged, but it left an indelible mark.

Many scenes in Wild Kingdom were filmed in South Africa’s Kruger Park, the oldest and largest in the country. Created by the South African Republic in 1898 to preserve hunting game, it was proclaimed a national park in 1926. Today, it’s part of the largest transnational conservation area on the planet, where border fences between South Africa and Zimbabwe have been removed to allow animals to migrate as nature intended.

Depending on the time of year, in Kruger you’ll meet vast herds of Cape buffalo, wildebeest, springbok and other gazelles, zebras, giraffes, baboons, hippos, rhinos—and of course, lions and cheetahs. If you’re going out on a night safari, you might even spot a leopard.

That’s not to mention the duiker, the world’s smallest antelope, long-tailed monkeys, porcupines, African wild dogs, jackals, hyenas, and all the rest of the wildlife that lives under the bush canopy. And of course, the birds and vegetation, including the majestic baobab.

But Kruger is only one of the country’s nature reserves. There are over 1,500 protected areas on both state and private land. In the last few decades, conservation and tourism have combined to encourage investors to buy up large tracts of marginal farmland to convert into nature reserves in parts of the country that lost most of their wildlife centuries ago.

These days, you can go on safari within two hours’ drive of Cape Town, where I live. For example, last year my family and I went to Aquila Private Game Reserve north of the city. We enjoyed spectacular game drives, meeting hippos, rhinos, elephants, lions, giraffes, and all manner of gazelles. And in the evenings, we were delighted by the sounds of African bullfrogs croaking in the pond directly in front of our thatched hut.

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A Taste of French Wine Country

Many tourists—especially those from Europe on return visits—come to South Africa primarily for the Western Cape. In addition to the dozens of dorpies (small towns) dotting the valleys between mountain ranges, there’s also the Mediterranean climate, warm and dry during the summer.

And then there’s the wine.

The southwestern Cape region is home to one of the world’s most productive viticultures. The Dutch East India Company founded the settlement at Kaapstad (Cape Town) to create a supply base for ships plying the route between northwestern Europe and the Far East. It quickly became a favorite destination of retired employees of the Dutch East India company, who were encouraged to settle and produce crops for the shipping trade. Some chose to focus on grapes for wine, setting up vineyards to the east of Cape Town, around Stellenbosch and Paarl.

Thirty-five years after the Dutch planted their flag, another group of European wine lovers landed: Huguenots fleeing religious persecution in France.

The Huguenots founded a small town called Franschhoek (”French corner”) nearby. Today it’s home to some of the highest quality vineyards in the country—bearing names like La Motte, La Cotte, Haute Cabrière, Grand Provence, Chamonix, and Dieu Donné. Most of them still have their original farmhouses and outbuildings built from the 17th and 18th centuries. Foreigners who discover this little transplanted piece of France at the bottom of Africa never forget it.

The wine is one reason. But Franschhoek’s culinary and artistic attractions deserve equal weight. The village is dotted with world-class restaurants, such as La Petite Colombe, Orangerie, Le Quartier Français and Haute Cabrière. It’s also home to many art galleries, like Grande Provence and Everard Read. Not for nothing did Time Magazine declare the town “One of The World’s Great Places” in 2022.

A Nation in Love With Food

South Africa is a remarkably diverse country, with influences ranging from 17th-century European settlers to Malaysian and Indian immigrants and, of course, indigenous African cultures.

The country has 11 official languages, reflecting not only the Dutch and British settlers, but also nine distinct ethnic groups who make their home here.

Although they may not be as outwardly fancy as Franschhoek, within township neighborhoods you’ll find world-class restaurants specializing in African dishes, such as masonja (caterpillars) in tomato sauce, umngqusho (cracked corn and beans), and peanut and chili-infused greens.

And of course, everywhere you go you’ll be presented with shisanyama, which translates as “burnt meat.” Indeed, cooking various meats over an open fire is South Africa’s national passion, shared equally by all (except Hindu vegetarians!). Known universally as braaivleis, it’s so important to our culture that it even has its own national day, made popular by its founding patron, Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

How to Spend Two Weeks in South Africa

South Africa is at a crossroads. The post-apartheid political culture has run its course, and a younger generation wants to foster growing and more equitable economy. So does most of the older generation… That’s why I’m so bullish on the country: It’s on the cusp of a big leap forward.

Is South Africa Safe to Visit?

No travel article about South Africa would be complete without some mention of safety.

I’ve been living in South Africa for the better part of four decades. I have never experienced any physical crime, although I have suffered a few break-ins, both to vehicles and on one occasion to my home.

The Institute for Economics and Peace’s Global Peace Index for 2025 ranked South Africa four spots ahead of the United States in terms of safety and security.

That’s the lesson here: Overall statistics paint an entire country with a single brush. Just as millions of Americans go about their daily lives without meeting personal safety issues, so do most South Africans.

Having lived in a major American city with a high crime rate—Atlanta—I know how Americans manage crime in their environment. They stay informed, consider how likely they are to become a victim, and avoid contexts in which they are likely to do so. But most people keep a balanced view, and don’t succumb to unwarranted paranoia. The same applies to South Africa.

— Ted Baumann, IL’s Global Diversification Expert

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Personified as the god “Darius” by the Romans for 700 years, the Douro River has been a purveyor of commerce and culture for millennia.

Now, as my two friends and I made our way to its ancient banks, we were ready to add our own history to its timeless waters.

We were old friends, Paul, Terry, and I—and by old, I mean it had been well over forty years ago since we’d worked together on a Northern California beach for the National Park Service.

While they’d stayed in the US, I’d left more than twenty years ago to teach English overseas and eventually settled down in Portugal, thanks to its bargain-basement property values.

It had been some time since I’d seen Paul or Terry, and even longer since we’d found ourselves all together. It was Paul’s idea to travel the Douro for our reunion in my adopted country, and it was he who booked our private three-day trip with Sailo, a global boat and yacht charter company, for $3,615 all in.

The coming adventure would be worth it for the memories. Whatever past each of us held would be left on the dock that morning. Invariably, they’d be there when we got back. But the opportunity for us to saddle up and ride together again beckoned—albeit with arthritic pain and reading glasses this time around.

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Casting Off for a Three-Day Trip

Our home for the next three days and two nights would be a 42-foot cabin cruiser, captained by Tiago, who’d skippered on the Douro since he was 17.

Along with Daniel, the accompanying deckhand, gourmet chef, and helmsman-in-training, our journey was to take us as far as Pinhăo in the heart of Vinhateiro, or Vine Land, the famous region of the Douro Valley where grapes are cultivated to produce the most renowned vintages of port wine worldwide.

Our itinerary would see us spending one night in the town of Régua as we traveled east up the river, and another night in Pinhăo, our turnaround point.

We’d be comfortable enough on this boat. With lounging areas both aft and beside the helm, lower and forward berths, and the kitchen and shower room, there was plenty of space to walk about, recline at our leisure, and enjoy nicely prepared noshes, gin and tonics, the distinctive Portuguese vinho verde (green wine), and anything else that would keep us cool and content in the late September heat on the Douro River.

Tiago maneuvered the boat from the marina into the channel, and the river opened itself up to us. It would be a hot and sunny day, but the mid-morning air still held a cool touch to it, like a welcoming gift.

Leaving Touristy Portugal Behind

A light breeze stirred as we moved past the municipality of Gondomar, a few miles east of Porto’s city center, where the sidewalks were crowded and the streets congested.

Occasionally, fish that Tiago identified as tainha, or mullet, broke the river’s surface between us and the passing landscape. A gray heron glided along the trees that lined the southern shore.

It was only a short while until we reached the first dam, the Crestuma-Lever, one of two we would need to pass through on the first day. As we waited to enter the lock that would hoist us up to the river’s water level on the other side, Daniel served up a plate of Portuguese pastries: pastel de nata, păo de deus, queijada, among others, while the morning sun began to warm.

Soon after, we stopped for coffee at Quinta de Santo Antonio. While Terry and I got a strong dose of caffeine and enjoyed the view, Paul sauntered off… as he was prone to do. Once back on board, he showed us photos of a cemetery he’d stumbled across.

“Every single grave had fresh flowers,” he said, and I could see it was true. In my years in Portugal, I’ve found the Portuguese quietly appreciate their lives in the smallest of ways. And those who are no longer here are appreciated as well.

The Portuguese aren’t without their superstitions, either. As we set off again, it wasn’t long until we came across a 40-foot-tall golden angel that rose above the water on the south bank, where two bridges curiously cross the river side by side.

The monument is a tribute to the victims of the old Hintze Ribeiro Bridge, when it collapsed in March of 2001 during massive flooding on the Douro. The locals refused to use the newly replaced bridge; they overwhelmingly regarded it as “cursed” by the disaster, so a second bridge was built only feet away.

With the day’s heat in full swing, we stopped for a swim in the river’s cool water before reaching the second dam, the Carrapatelo, at mid-afternoon.

The timing of our arrival had us wait for one of the massive “hotel boats” that was coming down the river. These boats, which can reach over 150 feet in length, are common on the Douro. They boast the same amenities as any of the larger, more recognizable cruise ships that go from one open-sea port to another.

When we finally exited the lock, we could see not far off a large, Roman-built bridge, beautifully intact, still effectively connecting two hillsides after centuries: a testament to the river’s long history.

First Stop: A Not-So-Sleepy Small Town

We’d traveled about 70 miles by the time we reached the town of Peso da Régua—or just Régua, as the locals call it.

Here, the Douro River Valley’s vast vineyards cover the hillsides in terraced rows and the landscape rises dramatically up from the banks of the river.

A few hotel boats were docked near ours for the night, and when the three of us sauntered into town, the sun had already set. It was eerily quiet. We wandered the dark streets trying to find a place that was open.

“Does anyone actually live in this town?” Terry quipped.

After a short while, we finally found O Maleiro, a nice, cheap place to indulge in the local cuisine. The tables were packed with people from the hotel boats, yet the one waiter working never missed a step. The night had a perfect temperature, and everyone was enjoying themselves with the excellent food, wine, and good company. We heard a variety of different languages being spoken at the adjoining tables.

After a pleasant walk back to our boat, we nestled in for the night, and I tucked myself on the stern deck where the river’s fresh air and the starry night above soon brought on a deep sleep.

We sauntered back into Régua the next morning for breakfast, and it was a completely different town. The streets were busy, shops were open, with people walking to work, or crawling along in traffic on the small avenues.

It was clearly a town that operated according to the locals, rather than the tourist trade that stops at the riverside docks. Whether or not tourists showed up, the people of Régua had things to do.

The authentic feel of the place made me want to return and enjoy the local atmosphere for nothing more than what it is.

After finding a little pastelaria (pastry shop) for a bite, we discovered the Douro Museum, one of the best museums I’ve had the pleasure to visit.

Dedicated to promoting the active preservation of cultural artifacts within the Douro region, its collection and purpose not only features fine art, but also ongoing efforts toward ecological, economic, and historical awareness initiatives that include the restoration of old texts, historical and artistic study, documentary photographic surveying, and sustainable curative intervention for the region. It’s a can’t-miss stop.

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Second Stop: Wine Country’s Heart

Our departure from Régua was under another clear sky. We passed under the old roadway, known as the Portuguese “Route 66,” and soon we were at the Régua Dam, our last to pass through.

While we waited for the green light to enter, we heard gunfire in the hills above. “Most likely locals hunting wild boar,” Tiago reassured us.

It didn’t take long for us to reach Pinhăo, the heart of Douro Valley wine country. With a good part of the afternoon still ahead of us, we booked a wine-tasting tour at one of the smaller vineyards, Real Campanha Velha, a family business founded in 1756 and still run by Portuguese.

From the top of the ridge where rows upon rows of grape vines stretched for miles, we could see the now distant Douro River snaking its way below.

We sampled the grapes off the vine, sweet as candy. Back at the wine-tasting house, we sized up their Ruby and Tawny ports, as good as any my unsophisticated palette had tasted.

I couldn’t help but to offer a toast to the moment: “Here’s to the different paths we took that have once again converged in this beautiful place and this beautiful now.”

Pinhăo was just as provincial as Régua, its streets a bit narrower and more labyrinth-like. We had dinner at a small restaurant called The Bridge, next to an old Roman bridge (hence the name). With wine tasting still fresh in our minds, we ordered a bottle of port… then another… and another after that.

We indulged our palates with the best regional dishes we had had on the trip yet, and the little I can remember from the night is being among very good old friends.

Final Stop: A Long-Abandoned Mansion

The sun was yet to rise over the high ridge as I stayed wrapped in my blanket on the stern deck, sipping the strong coffee Daniel had handed me.

It would be a slow and steady journey all the way back to the marina, but one last stop on the return allowed us a short while to enjoy the riverside charm of Porto de Rei.

There, I made my way alone up to a palatial mansion: the House of Porto Rei, known locally as the “Great House.” It was opulent when it was built in the 16th century, but now stood abandoned.

I was astounded by its size, its decaying beauty, and its magnificent architecture. I could still feel the life it once had as I circled the property, many of the windows broken, but grand curtains still draped the house’s interiors. I came back to the boat with ghosts in my head.

When we reached the marina late in the day, we said our goodbyes to Tiago and Daniel, and thanked them for their good service and company.

When our journey first began, we didn’t know what to expect from it—but in the company of old friends, the ancient Douro River suddenly became more personal for us as we absorbed its history and its cultural charm.

It was an experience worth anyone’s time, an experience that would capture the imagination of those back home through the stories we would tell of it: this ancient waterway that allowed three old friends to pause for a short while before that vast, open sea of unknown waters comes into view.

We went home in our own directions, thankful for the memories that three days on the Douro River had given us.

— Avery Chmelewski

Editor’s Note: This story first appeared in the pages of International Living magazine. Want more tales and expert insights like this? Click here to learn more.

Last summer, while ferrying into the Greek isle of Sifnos, I saw a familiar sight: a small, lonely white dot on a distant hilltop.

I’d seen this—a building, perhaps?—many times in my travels around the Greek Isles.

As I disembarked the ferry, I asked the friendly woman at the information kiosk what—or who—was on that mountaintop. I got the same answer I usually did: St. Elias.

Greeks don’t mean the actual St. Elias, of course. Those small white dots are often chapels, or monasteries—places of worship to commemorate the saint, whose feast day is celebrated all over Greece on July 20th. You might think of him as the Greek answer to St. Patrick. In the Bible, he’s known for conjuring rain during a drought. But his connection to Greece has pagan roots, too; he was often compared to Zeus, the Greek god of the sky, hence his elevated places of worship.

When I glimpsed that white dot on Sifnos, I’d been living on the island of Syros, capital of the Cyclades archipelago, for some 20 years. I was a frequent adventurer of these lesser-known Cyclades islands in the southeast, rather than the powerhouses of Mykonos, Paros, or Santorini.

These under-the-radar isles, I’ve found, provide better insight into daily Greek life than common tourist destinations. So I embarked on two adventures, to two different island groups, in search of a connection with St. Elias—and a deeper understanding of Greek culture. I invite you to come along…

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In Hydra, an Ode to Leonard Cohen and an Empty Monastery

My first adventure: climbing the 1,500 feet required to reach the monastery of Prophet Elias on the island of Hydra. The monastery, located near the island’s highest peak of Mount Eros, was founded in 1813 by 13 Greek monks seeking a place of secluded worship—and secluded it is.

I ferried from my home on Syros to Athen’s port of Piraeus, and from there took a ninety-minute ferry to Hydra. For three nights I stayed in a cozy pension room in a private house, a mere thirty yards from the port’s busy waterfront cafes, bars, tavernas (pubs), and a towering clocktower.

St. Elias, the Greek answer to St. Patrick, is celebrated throughout the isles.

My stay was coincidentally an ode to another great man—if not a saint. Back in the ‘60s, Leonard Cohen used to hang out at this port alongside his literati friends. These days, the small, attractive port is inundated with affluent international and Greek tourists alike in summer, and costs reflect that. My obligatory morning cappuccino, served poli zesto (very hot) set me back nearly €6. Ouch!

Not to be distracted by this charming island’s tourist attractions (I was on a quest, after all) I made inquiries at the waterfront Roloi Cafe the following evening. The locals had warned me not to attempt the hike during the heat of the day, so it was an evening excursion—three hours before sunset.

While I’d located the monastery on my tourist map, I couldn’t figure out where to start the trek from. The friendly café host quickly gave me the necessary directions. It would be simple, he said, once I got started.

He was right… mostly. From Roloi Café, I headed up the adjoining laneway. This led me away from the waterfront up a gentle hill through the upper part of town for 150 feet. From there, I found my way to the main road that connected to a zig-zagging pedestrian path. The signs here pointed me to the mountainside, surrounded by idyllic conifer and pine trees.

As I climbed, I couldn’t help but wonder how those monks had managed to transport building materials up the mountain. Donkeys, surely—and perhaps some divine assistance to boot.

After an arduous 90-minute walk, the monastery buildings finally came into focus. It was certainly an uplifting feeling—as if a magnifying glass had been used to transform those tiny white dots into life-sized buildings.

I entered the grounds through an ornate stone gate at the head of the steep steps. There, I was greeted by a large barking Alsatian dog. There were no humans to be seen. But a caretaker must have been in residence somewhere, because once I pushed past the dog, it seemed to vanish. The monastery was eerily quiet, though it seemed to be in the midst of an extensive renovation.

The monastery hosts a rich, well-stocked library of valuable religious manuscripts. Fellow intrepid tourists, I advise you to ring ahead (+30 22980 52540) for their hours ahead of your own trek.

Though I couldn’t enter the monastery, I still felt the essence of this special place. The solitude and serenity of the grounds made me feel that I was in the celestial environs of the saint. The monastery grounds overlooked Hydra town and its port far below, plus several other islands out to the west. The light was a soft glow from the setting sun.

It was a relief to escape the summer hordes and ascend to an historic place of worship, especially one with such serene surroundings. Thank you, St. Elias.

In Kalymnos, a Fated Encounter With a Greek Congregation

My second adventure in honor of the great man was far more arduous. For this, I had headed east, to the Dodecanese islands near Turkey.

As my ferry cruised into the port of Kalymnos, I became acutely aware of the rugged mountain terrain and sheer limestone cliffs. Kalymnos is a mecca for mountaineers in more recent times, replacing its fame as a working island with a thriving sponge diving and fishing industry.

I settled into the picturesque village of Masouri, halfway up the west coast. This section of the island—with the villages of Mirties, Masouri, and Armeos—is the most picturesque and developed for tourists. These villages overlook the Aegean, with the main road directly above the sea. There’s plenty of affordable tourist accommodation here, plus tavernas and pedestrian-friendly footpaths. A regular bus service connects this tourist strip with the main town at the port.

Again I took a pension room on the waterfront. It looked out at the small adjoining island of Telendos, only a 15-minute boat ride away. (It’s a worthwhile sojourn, and the island offers numerous bars and tavernas for day-trippers from Kalymnos.)

But again I remained focused on the job at hand, which was to locate and visit the mountaintop chapel in honor of the prophet. The tourist map again showed its location at the center of the island, on the island’s highest peak of 2,000 feet.

A 20-minute bus ride took me to the central inland village of Chora, where my hike would begin. Again, I had difficulty finding the trailhead. But St. Elias intervened.

It was a Sunday, and I soon came upon a Greek Orthodox Church, with the characteristic blue-domed roof of the region. Its priest and congregation had spilled out onto the adjoining courtyard. I approached them for help, and in broken English I was directed by the kind priest to the starting point for my trek—only a couple hundred feet down the path.

I’d forgotten the wise advice I’d received in Hydra, and the congregation was incredulous that I would take the two-hour hike in the heat of the day. They advised me strongly against it, as best they could in Greek—but armed with my reliable wide-brim Akubra Aussie hat and a bottle of water, I pressed on. Being Aussie and tough go hand in hand—or so I thought.

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A Two-Hour Endurance Test and a Locked Chapel

The hike took me up a narrow stone track through dry, barren countryside. Twice I almost faltered, but saw a reassuring—if dilapidated— sign with a painted arrow reading “Prophet Elias,” and so continued.

It was mid-afternoon and I was exhausted when I finally reached the whitewashed chapel and its adjoining buildings perched on the mountaintop. It wasn’t a large monastery complex set in comfortable grounds, as in Hydra, but a simple building with a small courtyard.

The spot offered a stunning 360-degree view of Kalymnos as well as neighboring islands. The two-hour endurance test, I decided, was well worth the effort.

After taking in the vista I headed to the chapel, but found it locked. Once again, I was deprived (vis à vis Hydra) of the ultimate experience of gaining access to his inner sanctum.

Perhaps the prophet was avoiding me… or just not in the habit of taking in unannounced random pilgrims like me.

I could understand why his followers sought such solace.

A thousand years of solitude could do that to any man, I suppose.

After a 30-minute rest I headed back down the mountain, disappointed.

But only fifteen minutes into my journey back down the mountain I spotted a tiny chapel built into the side of the mountain. It was set in a shallow cave, cut precariously into the underside of an overhanging rock.

I entered the tiny place of worship with extreme trepidation. Despite its sparse furnishings (just an altar and some chairs) all the usual religious accouterments were on offer, from candles to sacred religious icons of long-gone but never forgotten saints… including, at long last, Elias himself.

Such a peaceful place deserved contemplation. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a small offering from Elias, in lieu of access to the chapel above.

Again, I found peace and tranquility, and I could now understand why the saint and his followers had sought such solace, with only nature and the sky as company. We were a long way from civilization and the distractions it brings.

Descending from the Home of Greek Gods

When I finished my trek back down the mountain, I stumbled, exhausted, into a small local taverna in the village of Chora. When I ordered a beer poli krios (very cold), the local patrons extricated themselves from their usual smoke-filled conversations. After explaining my expedition, they nodded in wonderment that this crazy Aussie had actually bothered to venture up the mountain on such a hot summer’s day.

One of the local patrons asked, tongue in cheek, if “the great man had been home” when I arrived at his mountaintop chapel. “Was he in good health after all of those centuries? “ another joked.

I’ve been to many of the Greek islands, but there is a common thread: the soul of Greece, emanating from its connection with the Greek gods. By searching for the Prophet Elias, I’d finally joined its long history.

— Gavin Woodward hails from Australia and has now lived in Greece for over 20 years, soaking up the country’s rich history.

Editor’s Note: This story first appeared in the pages of International Living magazine. Want more tales and expert insights like this? Click here to learn more.

No matter how tired I am from the red-eye flight from the US, I immediately come alive when I emerge from London’s Tower Hill Tube station and glance across the wide street to the Tower itself. I’ve done it dozens of times, but I still feel utter joy at the sight of the White Tower standing majestically in the Tower of London; the collection of buildings that embody nearly a thousand years of British history. For me, it’s like coming home.

I first visited London as a college student, but my real love affair with the city began in 2018, when my teenage son Johan and I visited for a jam-packed week of sightseeing. We stayed in the Hotel Indigo in Kensington, which had a very cool vibe and a terrific restaurant. We returned the following year and, after a Covid hiatus, in late summer 2021, we boarded a plane bound for Heathrow once again. But this time I was dropping my son off at college, so I took a flat for a month in Tower Hill, a neighborhood just down the road from the Tube station.

By the end of the month, I felt like a true insider. I knew to look right when crossing the street, to say “queue” instead of “line,” “takeaway” instead of “takeout,” and “rubbish” instead of trash. I now know that “crisps” are potato chips, “chips” are French fries, and “pudding” refers to all desserts, not just, well, pudding. I’ve also learned to pronounce Grosvenor as GROVner, Gloucester as GLOSS-ter, and Leicester as LESS-ter.

I’ve had the good fortune to visit my son in London many times, and with each trip, I’ve learned which famous landmarks are worth seeing… and the lesser-known attractions many visitors are missing.

Here’s my cheat sheet for your next trip to London… along with some money-saving hacks so you don’t go home skint (that’s British for broke).

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Getting Around

When the weather is nice (which means any time it’s not raining), the best way to see London is on foot. Walking is my favorite way to discover little treasures. And it’s easy to hop on a bus or the Tube if you get tired.

When everything is running smoothly, the London Underground rapid transit system is a miraculous public transportation behemoth with 272 stations and 250 miles of tracks. With buses, boats, light rail, trains, and even a cable car, you can get virtually anywhere. For traveling within greater London, the Tube is usually the fastest way to go, but it can be extremely crowded, especially during rush hours and the summer months when London overflows with tourists.

If you’re not in a hurry, snatch a seat up top on a double-decker bus. This is a great way to see the city at a fraction of the cost of a bus tour. I’m also a big fan of the river buses, which get very crowded in the summer and cost more than the Tube, but offer spectacular views.

A word of caution. The rail networks are frequently disrupted by strikes or maintenance, which can result in stations or lines being reduced or shut down. Check the Transport for London (TFL) app or local news sites when planning your itinerary and find out when the Tube stations you’ll be using shut down, because some close before midnight.

My Favorite Popular (and Less Popular) Historic Sites

Historic Royal Palaces is an independent charity that manages five royal properties in the London area and one in Ireland. If you plan to see at least two of the properties or you’re traveling with a family member, I recommend getting an annual membership. Not only are they a bargain, but members get a 10% discount at most royal stores and cafés, plus early booking and exclusive access for an entire year. An added bonus: members go to the front of the queue. Visiting an attraction as a member also takes the pressure off because you’re not trying to get the most out of your daily ticket. You can wander in and out at will. My son and I once went to the Tower simply to visit the grave of Anne Boleyn.

Museum of the Home is a little gem that is directly across from the Hoxton Overground station and a world away from the commotion of the larger museums. The Home Galleries, which explore the concept of home through individual experiences over the past 400 years, are at times both humorous and heart wrenching—and always fascinating. Rooms Through Time offers a glimpse of homes from 1630 to 2049, with period furnishing (imagined for 2049) and descriptions of how the occupants of the time might be using the room. Also be sure to check out Gardens Through Time outside. Did I mention that the museum is free?

From there, you can catch an Uber or walk about 20 minutes to Shoreditch’s Brick Lane, an iconic East London hotspot for food and vintage fashion. Depending how far south you are on Brick Lane, Spitalfields Market is about a ten-minute walk. Spitafields is lined with shops, restaurants, and stalls offering food, jewelry, art and vintage items. Go hungry so you can sample the huge array of mouthwatering fare. Both areas can be touristy, but if you’re coming from somewhere that lacks good shopping, they’re worth a visit.

Roughly a mile south of Spitalfields is The Tower of London. It’s perhaps best known as the place where prisoners were kept and Anne Boleyn was executed, but there is so much more to this historical complex, which dates to the 1070s. The longest queue is usually to see the Crown Jewels, but I skip that and head to the White Tower, home to the astonishing Royal Armouries collections, which includes armours of Henry VIII, Charles I and James II, among a long list of fascinating relics and exhibits, such as an executioner’s ax possibly dating to Tudor times.

In the northwest corner sits the Chapel Royal of St Peter ad Vincula, where many notable people who were executed are buried, including Sir Thomas More and Anne Boleyn. The church still holds regular religious services that are open to the public.

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Save Time For These Gems Too…

Just outside the Tower of London walls is All Hallows by the Tower, a church founded in 675, now encompassing architecture from nearly every century between the seventh and the 20th, plus second-century Roman pavement from a domestic house in the Undercroft of the church. That’s also where you’ll find ancient registers dating back to the 16th century, which record the baptism of William Penn and the marriage of John Quincy-Adams. The church is free and offers free audio tours through the izi.travel app, plus there’s usually only a handful of people visiting. (There are nice restrooms in the adjoining restaurant.)

If you walk along the Thames in front of the Tower and under Tower Bridge, you’ll reach St. Katherine Docks, a local favorite (with a smattering of tourists.) Overlooking yachts and charming houseboats, there are restaurants for every culinary taste. Check out Ping Pong for gourmet Asian fusion food in a cool, vibey atmosphere inside or casual dining al fresco. For a more traditional experience, walk around to The Dickens Inn, a pub and restaurant that dates back to the 1800s.

Just across the river is the neighborhood of Bermondsey, and about a ten minute walk from where you exit the Tower Bridge is the Fashion and Textile Museum. It’s a small building but its exhibits pack a punch. There’s an eclectic mix of cafés, restaurants, bars and craft breweries in the neighborhood, along with Bermondsey Square, which hosts an antique market on Fridays and live jazz during the summer. From there you can go back to the river and head west along the south bank of the Thames. The wide promenade will take you past numerous restaurants and shops to Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre and further to the Tate Modern. Along the way, you’ll have spectacular views across the river. The area is one of the most crowded in London, but I still find it an enjoyable walk and worth doing at least once.

Back on the north side of the Thames, and a mile west of Tower Hill station is the London Mithraeum, remnants of a Roman temple, dating to AD 240, that sit under the Bloomberg Building. An immersive light and sound experience transports visitors back nearly 2,000 years when the temple was a place of worship for a mysterious secret all-male cult. In addition, more than 600 of the 1,400 objects excavated from the site are on display, including the earliest recorded written document from Britain. Entrance is free and bookings are highly recommended.

Once out on the street, walk south on Walbrook for about five minutes until you get to The Banker, a watering hole on the banks of the Thames. If you can beat the stream of office workers going for their after-work pint, snag a table on the deck for a great view of the river.

Roughly two miles west is Banqueting House (due to reopen in the summer following repairs). The original dates to Elizabeth I but it was her successor, James I, who commissioned the building we see today. The hall was specifically built to host masques (lavish balls with entertainment) and his son, Charles I, engaged Peter Paul Rubens to paint a series of canvases to decorate the ceiling in splendor. The magnificent paintings celebrate the divine right of kings, which must have felt painfully ironic to Charles as he walked beneath them to his death. He was beheaded just outside the Banqueting House in 1649.

While there are mirrored tables throughout, the best way to view the ceiling is lying on one of the numerous beanbag chairs scattered on the wooden floor.

From here, you can walk to Westminster Abbey, where monarchs have been crowned since 1066. Since the 14th century, 3,300 royals and other notables from every field have been buried or memorialized in the Abbey. Many, including Henry VII, his wife Elizabeth of York and their granddaughter Elizabeth I, have elaborate tomb effigies. The first time I visited, I was so enthralled by them (finally, I saw what Queen Elizabeth really looked like!) that I spent half a day there and still felt like I was rushing. There are various pricing schemes, but I recommend an annual membership, which is a bargain and gets you discounts. Best of all, you don’t have to pre book or wait in the queue.

Honorable Mentions In the city: Kensington Palace, the National Portrait Gallery, The British Museum, the Victoria & Albert museum and St. Martin in the Fields, a church with roots that go back to the Normans. Still a house of worship, the church also hosts an eclectic mix of music events, including the ethereal Candlelight Concerts. Don’t miss the Café in the Crypt for a bite or simply to marvel at the original brick vaulted ceilings.

Further afield: Hampton Court, Blenheim Palace, King Richard III Visitor’s Center, and the Harry Potter Studio Tour. (I’m not joking; it’s really fun!)

Whatever you choose to see in London, leave time to simply walk the city that has been enthralling visitors for over 2,000 years. I dare you not to fall in love.

Your turn: What are your favorite under-the-radar spots in London? Share your tips and discoveries in the comments — we’d love to hear where you think readers should go next!

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— Jaimie Seaton has lived and reported from South Africa, the Netherlands, Singapore, and Thailand. Now based in the US, her most recent work can be found in US News & World Report, Smithsonian, and Scientific American. Her travel writing can be found in The Independent, CNN, and AARP.

Editor’s Note: This story first appeared in the pages of International Living magazine. Want more tales and expert insights like this? Click here to learn more.

It turns out there’s a reason that Seoul to Jeju is the busiest domestic route in the world—with over 14 million airline seats sold per year.

I had never heard of Jeju Island.

We went in blind…

“Where does this cruise go again?” My husband asked as we were boarding our grueling overnight flight westward.

“After departing Beijing, we have a day in Seoul and then on to Jeju Island before heading to Japan.” I repeated for the umpteenth time, rolling my eyes.

“What island?”

“Jeju Island!”

From our seaport, we drove along the coast as the Joseon Dynasty-style Yakchunsa Temple came into view, perched on a hillside with its towering structures. Slowly climbing in the cool, misty air gave us time to pause and absorb the sweeping views of the aqua East China Sea unfolding below.

There is a tranquility surrounding Yakchunsa that one will only find in a Buddhist temple. Even with the dozens of tourists clamoring for the best selfie around the altar with three colossal golden Buddhas.

We moved onward to Cheonjiyeon Waterfall—a gem located within Poetry Park. It was such a peaceful nature walk I marveled that we were still within Seogwipu city limits. Recent rains resulted in the falls exploding in glorious cascades into a tranquil pond.

Leaving the peacefulness of the waterfalls behind, a trip to Seogwipo Maeil Olle Market was next. Showcasing the island’s amazing seafood offerings along with produce, sweets, and unidentifiable Korean delights. I tried conch skewers cooked with a scorching blow torch before my eyes—undoubtedly a challenge to any fire code.

Insider Tip: Try to tour the market off hours. It can be insanely busy and noisy, but well worth the visit.

Ultimately, we found Jeju is not only popular for honeymooners (there are many), but also those who want to slow down, relax, and enjoy a mix of nature and adventure.

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Voyaging to Jeju Island

Flights from North America to Jeju International Airport (CJU) will require at least one stopover, typically in Seoul. But there are also non-stop routes through Hong Kong, Tokyo, Taipei, Manila, Shanghai, and Beijing.

Since the journey is so long, I recommend combining the trip to Jeju with another country in the region, such as Japan or China, or time on mainland South Korea. For slow travelers, you can also cruise into Jeju (my experience); but that only allows for a day on the island.

Cruise lines including Jeju on their itinerary are Norwegian Cruise Line (NCL), Royal Caribbean Cruises, Holland America Line, MSC Cruises, Cunard, and Celebrity Cruises. Lastly, if you are on mainland Korea, you can take a ferry from Wando (2.5 hours) or 4 hours from Mokpo.

Jeju’s Greatest Hits

Jeongbang Waterfall roars down dramatic cliffs and pours into the sea (the only one that does so in Asia).

Dongmun Traditional Market or Seogwipo Maeil Olle Market are two of the largest markets on the island, offering a fascinating selection of fresh seafood, local produce, and street food.

Yakchunsa Temple is one of the largest Buddhist temples in Asia featuring three massive gold buddhas and breathtaking views of the beach and sea below.

Hyeopjae Beach, with its emerald waters and white sand contrasting the black volcanic rock, is a popular sunset beach lined with cafes.

Hyeopjaegul Lava Tube features rare stalagmites and stalactites (typically not found in lava caves). It’s located inside Hallim Park, so you can also visit the botanical gardens.

—Kathleen Evans

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Editor’s Note: This story first appeared in the latest issue of International Living magazine. Every month, we share inspiring travel tales, expat insights, and practical guidance on living overseas. If you’d like more stories like this delivered straight to you, consider subscribing to International Living today.

Below, I’m answering some of the most common questions people ask me about life as an expat in Portugal.

(Watch the full video Q&A embedded above for the complete conversation.)

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Do the Portuguese Welcome Expats?

I’ve been asked if locals respond negatively to expats moving into Portugal. While I know that can happen, I’ve personally never experienced it. Instead, I’ve found genuine kindness and interest.

Once, I asked a man if he was upset that so many expats were moving in. He said no—in fact, he was happy. He told me Porto used to feel less safe 20 years ago, but now, thanks to expats, it’s safer to walk around at night.

And it’s not just the Portuguese. The expat community here is big but also really supportive. People know each other, look out for each other, and help each other out.

Is Portugal a Good Place to Retire?

Yes, absolutely. I’m not technically retired anymore—I had retired when I first arrived, but later went back to work. But I have many friends here who are retirees, and they love it.

Retirement here isn’t about slowing down. One of my friends is nearly 70, and she’s paddleboarding and hiking all the time. Pickleball is huge here, too, especially among retirees. Life feels like it’s just beginning.

How Much Does it Cost to Live in Portugal?

When I first moved here, I lived comfortably on about $2,000 a month. Today, that’s much harder. Housing prices, in particular, have gone up significantly. For example, a friend of mine rented a tiny two-bedroom in Porto for about $500 a month. That same place is now listed at €800.

Still, some costs remain much lower than in the U.S. I pay under €1,000 for my three-bedroom apartment, which is a 25-minute walk to downtown Porto. Doggy daycare is only €190 a month (compared to $65 a day in the U.S.). Gyms are very affordable. Doctor visits are inexpensive. Overall, even with rising costs, I live for less than half of what I spent in the U.S.

Right now, my budget is about $3,500 a month. Some people live on less, others on more—it all depends on your lifestyle.

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What About Healthcare?

Healthcare is one of the biggest advantages of living here. Portugal has universal healthcare, and once you sign up with your residency card, you can access public hospitals, often for free or very little.

My first experience with the public system wasn’t perfect—I broke two fingers, waited hours, and didn’t feel cared for. But I also signed up for private healthcare, and that was incredible. I had two surgeries, a private hospital room nicer than some hotels, all the medicine included, and the total bill was €200.

Medications are also far cheaper with public healthcare coverage. One of mine dropped from nearly €300 to under €60. That alone makes the system worth it.

Which Towns and Regions are Best?

I’ve lived in Porto for three years, so that’s the place I know best. It’s green, affordable (at least compared to Lisbon), and has a huge expat community. But it’s rainy—sometimes up to 10 months a year.

If you want heat, head south to the Algarve. If you want cooler weather, look north. Lisbon is beautiful, but for me, it’s too expensive, too crowded, and too hot in summer.

Some of my personal favorites:

• Setúbal, a charming town south of Lisbon that immediately felt like home.

• Ericeira, a beach town I prefer over others nearby.

• Coimbra, a hilly college town full of character.

• Braga and Guimarães, both historic and beautiful.

• Viana do Castelo, near the Spanish border, green and stunning.

• Aveiró and Ovar, coastal towns between Porto and Lisbon, full of charm.

Wherever you choose depends on what you value—climate, affordability, culture, or proximity to airports.

What are the Biggest Challenges?

Portugal isn’t perfect. Apartments can be old and quirky—no A/C, no heating, sometimes plumbing issues. Bureaucracy involves a mountain of paperwork. Grocery shopping was a huge challenge when I first arrived, because I had no idea where to go.

The weather can also be tough. In Porto, it rains a lot. I had one year where it rained 10 months straight. It took me a while to adapt, but now I’ve learned to escape south for a couple of months in winter.

And yes, language is a challenge. Not everyone speaks English, though many people do. But people will make an effort to understand you, even if you only know a little Portuguese.

Final Thoughts

Life in Portugal is not always easy. But it’s worth it. You learn adaptability, patience, and a slower pace of life. For me, it’s been the best decision of my life. I feel safer here than anywhere else I’ve lived. I’ve built a stronger community than I ever had in California. And I have zero regrets.

Would you consider retiring in Portugal? What’s your biggest question about expat life here? Share in the comments below!

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Editor’s Note: At International Living, we share firsthand stories like Kimberly’s every month—insider looks at what life is really like overseas. If you’d like more expat stories, practical guidance, and ideas for your own escape abroad, consider subscribing to the magazine here.

For Rosette Eland and her husband Rob, this isn’t just a postcard scene… it’s their life.

Their days are filled with morning walks, fresh cappuccinos and cornetti at the local bar, evenings of pizza and wine that cost less than a night at the movies back home, and friendships that make them feel truly part of their little village of Chianni.

It’s proof that sometimes, when you take a leap, you land exactly where you were always meant to be.

Below, Rosette shares how her story unfolded—and what life is really like in a small Tuscan town…

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From South Carolina to a Tuscan Dream

“A typical day starts early, going on my daily walk, coming back for a cup of coffee (or two) in

the garden, listening to the birds and looking out at the Tuscan countryside,” says Rosette Eland. “I constantly pinch myself and ask, ‘is this really my life?’”

Rosette and her husband Rob raised their kids in Cleveland and South Carolina, but they always dreamed about a life abroad in Italy. With their kids finally grown and scattered across the US, it seemed like the perfect time to move.

They decided that “life was too short not to pursue our dreams” and started planning to live somewhere new. They sold their house in South Carolina, donated many of their belongings, and headed to Italy. They were planning to stay long-term, and excitedly applied for the Italian retirement visa.

Not precisely sure where in Italy they wanted to be, they began their search in Milan, driving south toward the Adriatic Sea, thinking that the Abruzzo region could be the place for them. But along the way, they connected with some friends in Tuscany from South Carolina and discovered the village of Chianni. It was love at first sight! She and Rob found a modest apartment in town and bought it just three days before their 90-day Schengen stay was about to end.

Why Chianni? Rosette says the small town of perhaps 1,400 people, nestled in the rolling Tuscan hills, is full of energy and offers all the amenities you would want. “The view from our village is one of the best you can imagine—the Tuscan countryside as far as the eye can see!”

Chianni is located halfway between the big cities of Milan and Rome, with Pisa International Airport just 28 miles away. There’s a convenient bus from the village to the nearby train station, and a gorgeous beach in Cecina, just a 30-minute drive away. The locals are friendly and welcoming, even with the language barrier, as Rosette and Rob are still learning Italian. They love Chianni so much that they bought a house a few years later with a garden, three bedrooms, a bath and a half, and of course those gorgeous views they adore.

Comparing their new life in Italy with their former life in the US, Rosette says the food is much healthier, cleaner and more affordable. With much of what they purchase being locally grown, they are more dependent on what’s fresh and seasonal, which feels right and makes them more appreciative of the fresh figs, mushrooms, and pomodoro when they are ripe and ready. Their average grocery bill is perhaps $125 per week for the two of them. “We eat…a lot!” she laughs.

A casual pizza night with drinks and dessert for the couple is less than $60, and a fancy night out with a shared appetizer, two prima piatti (first course), and two second courses, a few drinks, and dessert may run closer to $115. They love that a delicious bottle of house wine at their local trattoria is less than $10. After Rosette’s early morning walk, she can stop at the local bar (cafe) for a frothy cappuccino and a freshly baked pistacchio cornetto for just under $3.

Utilities are reasonable as well, with water, electricity, and gas costing approximately $230 in total each month depending on usage, and they pay less than $10 each per month for unlimited data with their cell phone.

Healthcare is affordable, and the cost of medical services paid out of pocket is very low. Rosette and Rob have purchased private health insurance for $260 per month for the two of them, and it even covers medical care in the US when they visit their family.

“Our lifestyle is so different now—everything is walkable and we go days without driving our car,” Rosette says. “The history, art, architecture, and food here in Tuscany tell such beautiful things about the land and its people, and we love learning about it. We find our neighbors to be genuine and accepting and have been able to build lasting relationships and form community here.”

Rosette spearheaded a fundraiser to create a campo da calcio (soccer field) in town and to purchase soccer equipment for the local kids, and has started volunteering at the local tourism office. Other days are spent foraging for wild mushrooms and asparagus, or harvesting olives from her friends’ trees to make olive oil.

She and Rob enjoy the ease of visiting nearby villages by car or train, or hopping on a plane for a short and inexpensive flight to other European countries to explore new places, cultures and history.

Asked what words of advice she has for anyone thinking of moving overseas, Rosette says, “never give up on your dreams! It’s been one of the most important and life-changing decisions I’ve made in my life and I believe it was worth it.”

— Cindy Sheahan

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Editor’s Note: If the idea of retiring in Europe has ever crossed your mind—whether it’s the food and wine, the culture, the walkable towns, or the high-quality, affordable healthcare—then the Fast Track Europe Conference is an event you won’t want to miss. It’s where you’ll get insider details on how to move to Portugal, Spain, Italy, France, Greece, and more—straight from the experts who live and work there.

From how to qualify for visas and healthcare, to what it really costs to live in Europe, to meeting the people who can walk you through it all personally—this conference has it covered. Seats are filling up quickly, and discounts won’t last much longer. Click here now to secure yours before they’re gone.

Have you ever planned to meet friends in a place neither of you has been before? You try to pick a well-known location. In a medieval town, it might be the gate of an ancient fortified city wall, a palace entrance, or maybe a popular restaurant. We chose the gate.

Our Portuguese friends were vacationing in San Sebastián, often called the Jewel of the Basque Country, and wanted to explore the area as much as possible. Having learned of the beautifully painted houses in a nearby town, they invited us to discover it with them.

So on a recent sunny morning, we met them at San Nikolas Gate in Hondarribia. The town sits on the left bank of the Bidasoa River in the northeast of Spain. Standing on the coast, you can look across to Hendaye, France, its beach accessible by a convenient boat service. Maps show the dividing line between Spain and France drawn neatly through the water. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

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Strolling the Medieval Streets

We began strolling the medieval cobblestone streets. I was struck by the number of Basque flags fastened to wrought-iron balconies everywhere. I knew the Basque people are famous for being independent and patriotic, but this was quite a statement. Then we learned there had been a festival the day before and another would take place the following day. (Our Portuguese buddies had wisely chosen the in-between time so it would not be crazy crowded or difficult to find parking.)

Naturally, the first stop was for coffee. We quickly found an outdoor café at the Hotel Palacete and enjoyed a snack before walking through Gipuzkoa Plaza. We were on our way to the La Marina neighborhood, where the buildings are former fish markets and fishermen’s huts.

It was impossible to walk along Calle San Pedro, delightfully designed as a pedestrian walkway, without stopping a dozen times to take photos of the brightly colored homes, enticing storefronts, and a bevy of bars and restaurants. We managed to restrain ourselves, only purchasing some cookies at a bakery named, oddly enough, Hawaii. When asked why it was called that, the young woman said her grandfather just liked the sound of the word, although he had never traveled there. She did once surf in Hanalei Bay, then returned home to stay in Hondarribia.

Savoring the Basque Spirit

Speaking of Hawaii, as we strolled Paseo Butrón, the marine walk, the mountains in the distance reminded me very much of the land and seascapes of Hawaii.

We didn’t go to it, but Hondarribia Beach is one of the top tourist attractions in the area, with 800 meters of sandy shoreline on a calm sea, as well as lifeguards, toilets, showers, and changing rooms.

Plaza de Armas is located in the very center of town. For centuries, the square has been the venue for celebrations, receptions, and other important events. The castle of King Carlos V is here, where members of Spain’s royal family resided in 1660 while arranging the wedding of Maria Theresa of Spain to the future King of France, Louis XIV. If you want a treat, you can stay in the castle, as it’s now a luxury hotel.

I had hoped we’d walk up the coast a bit to San Telmo Castle, allegedly once inhabited by pirates and Templars. But we were hungry after hours of exercise, and it was well past lunchtime. Michelin-starred Alameda Restaurant was recommended to us, but we had a different plan. Our friends wanted to return to a few spots they’d discovered in San Sebastián. They promised we would eat the best pintxos ever—those scrumptious little two- or three-bite bar snacks actually created in San Sebastián about 100 years ago. They also knew where to buy the finest Basque cheesecake.

Now those are good friends.

— Tricia Pimental

Thinking about exploring Spain beyond the usual stops? Discover hidden gems like Hondarribia and get insider advice on living abroad with International Living. Subscribe here today.

We returned home after a full day in Mérida, about a two-hour drive away. Costco was on our list, as was Walmart, and, of course, lunch at Texas Roadhouse. Living in a tiny village in the center of Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula, these trips to Mérida (or sometimes Cancún) are big-city adventures. We take full advantage. The days are long, and we always arrive home exhausted.

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As we returned to our tiny pueblo (only about 450 people), smoke from cooking fires wafted through the air as the women prepared the evening meal in outdoor kitchens. Chickens, puppies, and laughing children wandered among modest houses, while families gathered in yards, visiting with neighbors. The day’s end was peacefully settling upon the village.

We pulled into the narrow, unpaved lane leading to our house. The lights were on, welcoming us. Mari heard us approaching and was waiting outside, ready to unload the car and put all the newly purchased items away. Our dogs and the neighbor dogs gathered around our feet, tails wagging, hoping for a quick pet or scratch as we exited the car.

The house was spotless and smelled fresh and clean, the tile floors recently scrubbed. The dogs had been fed, and the laundry had been done and put away. Nothing was out of place.

Mari is our housekeeper. She’s been with us about nine years, and now, she is more like family, functioning as our household manager. She maintains shopping lists, notes cleaning supplies needed, tends to all our laundry (including mending), advises us of any maintenance issues we may not have noticed in the house, and often arranges for routine repairs. She has access to limited funds for immediate needs. She discards old food, regularly cleans out the refrigerator, refills the sugar bowl and salt grinder, and sometimes cooks for us.

She freely expresses her opinion if I buy the wrong product at the market and offers good-natured corrections if my Spanish gets too far off track. When we travel, Mari stays at our place, caring for the house and our dogs. Her teenage daughter joins her. Though she is fluent in both Yucatec Mayan and Spanish, she speaks not a word of English.

Mari takes good care of us, and we take good care of Mari. These days, she works mostly without direction, caring for our home and us with a nurturing spirit. We love her!

When reading about the advantages that current expats say they most enjoy about their lives abroad, one of the most frequently stated benefits is a reduced cost of living and/or an improved lifestyle. I cannot disagree! Though adventure, cultural enrichment, and great food are also often included, one of our favorite benefits (and one also frequently mentioned) is having a housekeeper. And oh boy…is that a great benefit!

Employing a housekeeper is a very personal endeavor and can make one feel a bit vulnerable. After all, this person comes into your home and, with your guidance (or not), delves into the dark and dirty corners of your world and sets things in proper order again. The green cheese in your refrigerator, the out-of-date dairy products, the hair in the shower drain, your literal dirty laundry, the dust collecting on your shelves, and whatever you have discarded in your waste bins are all subject to review and intervention by the person you have hired to do such things. Judge me if you will, but I sometimes had out-of-date dairy products and liquefying tomatoes in the fridge. No more!

There is most certainly a spectrum of services that can be provided by a housekeeper. Most folks start out knowing what they want done. Perhaps once a week or twice a month: dusting, cleaning the floors, maybe laundry and trash, dishes, and perhaps windows. It’s all up for consideration. And as the quantity of services provided can vary, so can the quality of services.

I’ve not taken a survey, but from the casual posts on Facebook, it seems the norm is doing general cleaning several times per month, under the direction of the employer. Costs will vary, naturally, based on the country, culture, and amount of work. However, affordability seems assured compared to a similar service back in the States.

Call it a luxury if you like, but for the housekeepers, this is their livelihood. They work very hard and depend on this honorable employment to assist their family. In some cases, it may be the only income for their family.

In addition to a generous wage (by Mexican standards), we support Mari’s family in many other ways. Mexican law requires employers to pay an annual bonus (aguinaldo) each December to all employees. The minimum amount of this payment is 15 days’ wages, payable before December 20, and we are pleased to offer more to Mari and our other helpers on our small team.

I am perfectly fine if you want to call us spoiled. I suppose we are, but with the reduced cost of our life in Mexico, we can afford it. Admittedly, as we have aged, it is becoming easier to accept more help from Mari. There is much we love about living in Mexico, but having a great housekeeper is one benefit that would be hard to surrender!

— Don Murray

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Editor’s Note: Expat life isn’t just about where you live—it’s about the lifestyle you gain. From trusted help at home to richer community ties, discover the perks you never expected. Subscribe to International Living and see what’s waiting for you.

Over the river and through the woods… not to grandmother’s house this time, but to Playa Cocolito! The river and woods part, though, was right on.

Living in Costa Rica means enjoying nature is a daily joy. I’m lucky to be surrounded by stunning landscapes all year long in this tropical paradise, and chasing waterfalls has become one of my favorite activities. Here in Costa Rica, you can find waterfalls in pretty much every part of the country!

During an editorial trip to Montezuma, I took a day trip to a remote beach located between Tambor and Montezuma on the Nicoya Peninsula. This was not your regular beach day, it was an adventure enjoying unspoiled nature with a Pura Vida vibe.

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How to Get There

At the entrance to Tango Mar, follow the road to the “Waterfall/Cascada” signs. Park your car and follow the path, walking by the chain-link fence. Head toward the ocean; you will hear the crashing waves calling your name.

Continue walking, surrounded by lush greenery, which I find so energizing. That vibrant green color always enhances my mood. Breathing in the fresh air, my nervous system relaxes.

After a short walk, you come to a river that flows down into the ocean. The waterfall, known as El Chorro, is one of the few waterfalls in the world that flows directly into the sea, making it a unique find.

Cross the river slowly—the rocks are slippery, but the water is shallow. Once on the other side, you have to climb down the rocks. This isn’t the best spot for anyone uncomfortable on uneven terrain. But once you hit the light brown, soft sand, you are on a remote beach… a slice of paradise.

Since reaching this beach requires more effort, its limited accessibility keeps the crowds away.

You must go at low tide, as you could get stuck on the beach once the tide comes in, unable to access the rocks to climb out.

Other Ways to Access This Beach

Walking

From Playa Montezuma, walk north for about 3 miles along the beach. Since the walk takes about 1.5 hours, it might be best to walk there and arrange a ride back.

From the main beach in Montezuma, you will enter the Romelia Wildlife Refuge, where the path intersects protected jungle and a rocky beach. If you get lucky, you may see white-faced capuchin and howler monkeys, coatis, scarlet macaws, and toucans. Romelia is also a turtle nesting beach (olive ridley, hawksbill, and sometimes leatherback). Nesting is seasonal and usually happens at night into the early morning hours.

Then you hit Playa Grande, a vast and beautiful surfing beach. Stop to explore and swim along the way; the walk is a coastal gallery, where you might spot crabs, fish, and snails in the tidepools. Check out the hidden coves tucked between rocks along the way.

⚠️ Be sure to go at low tide, since parts of the walk become impassable at high tide.

On Horseback

Local tour operators in Montezuma and Tambor offer horseback riding tours along the beaches and trails to reach Playa Cocolito. On horseback, you’ll take in scenery that includes the sparkling ocean, jagged cliffs, and lush greenery.

By Boat

Some boat tours from Montezuma or Tambor include Playa Cocolito as a stop. Most boat tours also offer snorkeling and dolphin watching.

My Recommendations

I suggest using a local guide for this excursion. My nephew, who lived in the area, showed me the ropes by accompanying me during my trip. If you are into private paradises off the beaten track, Playa Cocolito is a must-see.

When you are in the area, I also suggest visiting:

• Río Lajas: On the road to Cabuya from Montezuma, check out Río Lajas, a tropical paradise where river and ocean ecosystems collide. The palm tree-lined river is the perfect place to spend a couple of hours soaking in the sun and the beauty of the area.

• Montezuma Waterfall: This waterfall is easy to access, as there is a parking lot right near the trail. Be careful as you cross the river and hike the trail, as it can be slippery. Always use caution, especially in the rainy season, when currents and debris can make conditions dangerous. Bring a bathing suit—you’ll definitely want a dip in the natural pool once you reach the top.

With its incredible biodiversity and natural beauty, Costa Rica promises unforgettable experiences and adventures that will last a lifetime!

— Bekah Bottone, IL Costa Rica Correspondent

Exploring off-the-beaten-path spots is half the fun of living abroad. What hidden gem have you discovered? Drop it in the comments so we can all add it to our lists!

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