Mr & Mrs Smith

1 week ago | mrandmrssmith.com | Estella Shardlow

On a Saturday night in Niseko, northern Japan, the hottest place to be isn’t a new sake den or karaoke bar — it’s in the bath. Partakers are bobbing around in the steaming outdoor pools like a fresh batch of gyoza dumplings, while the snow settled in the surrounding gardens resembles mounds of fluffy white rice. This resort town is home to dozens of onsen — Japan’s hot-spring bathhouses — their mineral-rich waters ideal for soaking mountain-wearied muscles. There’s a catch, though: public nudity.

2 weeks ago | mrandmrssmith.com | Kate Weir

Porto might be Portugal’s second city (after Lisbon), but it makes for a first-rate weekend break. Its high-frequency topography is lined with lavishly Azulejo-tiled buildings, gets you woozy on white-to-tawny ports, rings with mournful Fado songs and spills over into the Douro Valley wine region. The best hotels in Porto reflect its characterful nature; our pick of spa hotels, family apartments and beachside hideaways offer an intro to the city as smooth as its signature drink.

2 weeks ago | mrandmrssmith.com | Gemma Askham

Barcelona, some time in the late 19th century: Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí is dreaming up a church so fantastical it will take over a century of construction to… remain unfinished. Soon, wealthy tycoons — your early 1900s’ Musks and Bezoses — are commissioning the name-droppiest architects to outdo the neighbours.

3 weeks ago | mrandmrssmith.com | Kate Weir

Saving the world looks different these days. It’s galloping out into Chile’s sierras on horseback with a gaucho, laying down tracks with indie darlings in a secret recording studio in Cabo, diving into bioluminescent waters in Cambodia, and many more thrilling pursuits beyond sorting rubbish into bins. How do you do your bit? By booking a B Corp hotel.

1 month ago | mrandmrssmith.com | Estella Shardlow

Teal, turquoise, marigold yellow: the apartment blocks lining the marina pop with paintbox brights, while the gleaming yachts tethered below bob on gently lapping waves. At the far end of the boardwalk, people are tucking into hand-churned gelato and knocking back Aperol spritzes on a sun-kissed terrace. Am I in Portofino, perhaps? Or some French Riviera resort? Think again: this is Exmouth, East Devon. When I was growing up in the area, this was a traditional buckets-and-spades town.