There’s a new kind of “house” in Philly, and by house we mean the sprawling, neon-lit, pop-culture funhouse of Netflix, one you can actually walk into.
Netflix House Philadelphia recently opened its doors at the King of Prussia Mall, offering fans a chance to step off their couch and into some of their favourite shows.
Inside, you’ll find over 100,000 square feet of immersive experiences – a mix of VR games, mini-golf, escape-room-style puzzles, themed food, merch and more. Two of the early centrepieces: a 60-minute pirate-style quest called “ONE PIECE: Quest for the Devil Fruit” and a carnival-meets-mystery event inspired by Wednesday (very spooky, very playful).
If you’re not into puzzles or spooky vibes, there’s still plenty to do: a nine-hole mini-golf course, VR versions of hits like Stranger Things and Squid Game, a themed restaurant called “Netflix Bites”, a merch shop, a theatre for screenings and fan events. So this place is basically a hybrid between a gaming arcade, immersive art installation, and a social clubhouse.
For a company that’s long lived in your TV screen, Netflix has now built a place where the stories really feel like they come alive; a playground for anyone who’s ever paused a show and thought, “What if I could walk inside this?”
It’s like a reminder that even in a world of algorithmic suggestions and streamed binges, there’s still something special about showing up to something in person.
Kosmos puts you somewhere the city lights can’t reach and the stars take centre stage. Like, the night sky here is so clear it practically taps you on the shoulder. But that’s probably because the resort is nestled in Colorado’s San Luis Valley within a certified Dark Sky Park.
And its story is as bold as its view: founder Gamal Jadue Zalaquett fell for the valley’s raw isolation and sky-high clarity, and decided the world needed a place where comfort, sustainability, and serious stargazing could coexist.
But the villas are the main event. The Stargazing Villa sleeps up to four, with a king bed, two twins, a private indoor jacuzzi, and a geodesic dome for telescope-toting stargazers.
The upcoming Galaxy Villa cranks it up: two master bedrooms, a loft, a kitchen, a meditation space, sauna and cold plunge, and a telescope deck that practically dares you not to nerd out over the constellations. Hempcrete walls make it eco-friendly, using a sustainable, breathable mix of hemp, lime and water that naturally regulates temperature and locks away carbon without making a fuss about it. And every corner is designed to feel effortlessly cool (spoiler alert, it succeeds).
Here, the night sky becomes the entertainment, guided astronomy sessions turn learning into play, and two telescopes per villa (including a high-tech digital one) make sure no celestial sighting is missed.
Combine that with Colorado’s crisp mountain air and a view that stretches to infinity, and you’ll never want to leave. Tbh, we’re right there with ya.
If you roll up at Honey Rock Landing in Colorado, you might initially wonder if you accidentally crashed a farmer’s day off but nope, you actually stepped into one of the coolest farm-orchard getaways ‘round.
Perched along the Gunnison River and surrounded by the Dominguez Canyon Wilderness, this place is a regenerative, organic orchard that grows peaches, cherries, pears, veggies, eggs… and even honey (hence the name).
But the real magic happens when you stay in the cave suites, carved straight into sandstone cliffs. Inside, expect a king bed downstairs, two queen beds tucked up in a loft, a cute kitchenette, and a bathroom with a fancy copper bathtub.
There’s even a private patio that looks out onto the orchard. Perfect for sipping coffee while birds swoop overhead, or maybe pretending you’re living in a secret nature hideaway.
Want to be a fruit nerd? Go on a farm tour. It’s about an hour; you’ll learn how Honey Rock grows its produce using regenerative methods, how the soil almost breathes carbon, and why the chickens are basically pest-control officials.
And in the evenings, you can skip stones in the pond, chill by the river, or sink into that copper tub with a book. The whole place feels rustic while dripping in luxury, like camping, but with WiFi and without the ratty sleeping bag. Hell yeah.
New York City is a delicious melting pot (literally) with more than 160 languages, a population of snack-obsessed locals, and enough street food smells to have your mouth watering for days.
From Jackson Heights’ kebab-scented sidewalks to Astoria’s secret speakeasies and Long Island City’s rooftop bars, this city doesn’t do subtle. It’s loud, it’s proud, and it’ll feed you ‘til you can’t stomach another mouthful. So, loosen that belt and grab a MetroCard – we’re eating, drinking, and talking our way through five days of Zohran Mamdani’s favourite NYC haunts. Pro tip: Bring your appetite.
I land in New York, bag dragging behind me and head straight for the borough where Mamdani’s tastebuds run wild: Queens. My first stop is Kabab King in Jackson Heights – one of his top choices because, biryani.
Rice layered like a spicy lasagne, steam rising, flavours sneaking up behind you. I plunge in, hands acceptable (per his protocol), plunging spoon & fingers into the mix. Then I roam Jackson Heights, taking in colourful murals and halal carts while listening to people chatter in a dozen tongues.
The evening’s agenda is to grab a drink at a local dive (ask for the house pour), people-watch from a stoop, digest the biryani and the city’s noise.
Lunch: at Pye Boat Noodle in Astoria (per Mamdani’s list). He raves about the koy nua (Thai raw-beef salad) which means I too shall plunge into slices of beef, chili, lime, overjoyed by the shock of flavour.
The afternoon’s mission is to find a hidden gem. Maybe a tiny neighbourhood bookshop, or a botanica tucked behind a barbershop. Catch sunset by the waterfront at Astoria Park and watch Manhattan sparkles across the river like a distant star.
Dinner: explore a Greek taverna (Astoria has choices) for simplicity: olive oil, grilled fish, no fuss. Then maybe a craft beer bar where the jukebox doesn’t play chart pop.
Mid-morning: hop on the subway (feel the rumble, smell the earnestness) into Long Island City (LIC).
Today, I want to emulate Mamdani’s third go-to spot – Zyara. Lamb adana laffa wrap, hummus, mint lemonade. It’s simple, street-food rough-charm meets Mediterranean flavour.
Afternoon: LIC has become another hidden-in-plain-sight zone. Rooftop views, industrial-chic cafes, and less tourist-saturated than Manhattan. I explore an art gallery or two, then take a waterfront stroll with Manhattan glimmering across the East River.
For dinner I plunge into Queens nightlife where I wanna find a cocktail lounge down a half-lit corridor or a speakeasy behind a bookstore and sip something smoky while I reflect on how food is culture and identity (yes, I’m channeling Mamdani’s vibe).
Okay, I cheat and stray into Manhattan (because you’re in NYC, you have to). But I keep it off-beat: breakfast tacos in the East Village, follow the smell of coffee and doughnuts.
Late morning: visit a lesser-known museum. Maybe the Tenement Museum or something quirky in Lower Manhattan and for lunch, discover a tiny immigrant-run diner or a Caribbean spot in Harlem (because Queens wasn’t the only borough with rich food).
Afternoon: wander through unknown streets – alphabet blocks, local corner stores, street art, the weird things that don’t appear in every guidebook.
Evening: head back into Queens for dinner. Find a Colombian-Peruvian fusion spot in Jackson Heights, maybe. Keep it grounded, keep it real: neighbourhood tables, big flavours, local chatter.
And if you’re after a nightcap, perhaps a Jamaican rum bar with reggae, laughter, and no dress code.
Brunch time: slide into Brooklyn (Williamsburg or Bushwick) for a patio brunch. Think avocado, eggs, kale (sob) but with a local twist and coffee so strong that you’re instantly awake.
Around midday, I returned to Queens for a farmer’s market/street-food fair. I really wanted to taste something weird. Maybe a dumpling-sandwich hybrid? Something fermented? Or pickled? Boom, check it off the list.
The afternoon bought a meander through the boroughs one last time. I even indulged and caught a ferry ride back to Manhattan, skyline glinting, the wind funny in my hair.
For dinner, I opted to go big but keep in character. If you’re keen too, choose a restaurant that is stylish but not slick, perhaps a Brooklyn brownstone converted eatery, or a Manhattan rooftop with city-noise as soundtrack. Toast with a local craft beer or a natural wine. Then head to a rooftop bar for the skyline one-last time.
Late night: sit on a bench by the river, listen to the hum of the city, reflect that you ate like the mayor’s tastebuds: diversely, unapologetically, across boroughs. And yes, you got lost in the best possible way.
You think you’ve done Halloween? Think again. Step inside the hulking ruin of Eastern State Penitentiary, a ten-acre fortress of cellblocks, decades of whispered misery and (now) wicked fun. At Halloween Nights, this historic prison holds onto ghosts of the past and invites them to the party.
Here’s the deal – you’ll wander (or run) through multiple haunted houses with names like Nightmares, Dark Tides, Machine Shop, The Crypt. Rough-and-ready corridors, fog, lights, thumping beats and actors whose mission is to yank you out of your comfort zone. But if you want a breather, there’s the Fair Chance Beer Garden, themed cocktail lounges, and live performers doing things you can’t quite stop staring at.
This is a perfect spot to spend Halloween because the setting is built-in creepy (an abandoned prison with real history). The production value is high (cinematic sets, immersive flow, new scare zones). The optional “opt in” glow-necklace gimmick means you might get pulled into hidden passages or separated from your squad. Like c’mon?! Fun.
And the vibe is both electric and macabre. You’re surrounded by fellow thrill-seekers, the air’s charged, every corner might have a jump-scare or a haunted film-set moment. For anyone wanting more than candy and carved pumpkins, it’s the full-on Halloween immersion.
Forget the usual haunted house clichés. Spookywoods in Archdale, North Carolina, has taken the concept of “Halloween fun” and turned it into a fully realized and immensely terrifying immersive experience. Like, don’t be fooled. The attraction isn’t a walk through a dark corridor with someone shouting “Boo!” at you. It’s more like being dropped into a series of mini horror movies, each with its own set, style, and extreme level of chaos.
Step into Endora’s House, and you’re greeted by a witch who clearly has better dance moves than you. Cross the Luminous Passage, and you’ll feel like a rave threw up in a haunted tunnel (think blinking lights, shadows, and plenty of weirdness). Ashes Army drags you into the aftermath of miners who dug too deep and woke up things better left alone, while Camp Crystal Lake takes you to a summer camp where the counsellors are definitely not making s’mores.
But Spookywoods doesn’t stop at storytelling. ICONS lets you rub shoulders with horror movie legends without worrying about them gutting you for funsies (we’re talking to you, Michael), and The Creeper – a seven-foot cryptid with glowing red eyes – makes sure you keep one eye on the path ahead.
Every themed set is a carefully constructed world designed to keep you laughing, but mostly screaming. And that’s exactly what everyone needs on the 31st of October.
Sure, Dread Hollow is a haunted house, but it’s also so much more than that. It’s a whole cursed town, tucked into Tennessee, where the shadows seem to watch you, and the past has a nasty habit of sticking around.
The story starts with Mercy Harker, a woman whose lies led to the deaths of thirteen innocent women. The town’s history turned dark that day, and so, the legend of Dread Hollow was born.
Now, the place is a playground for the curious, the fearless, and for the those who want to be scared shitless. Wander through the Belle Royale Hotel, where the creaky floorboards tell a story of vengeful spirits, or get lost in Dreadwood Forest, where the trees feel a little too eager to guide you off the path. The high school isn’t safe either: hallways and classrooms hide their own brand of horrors, each one rooted in the town’s grim history.
If you think you’re clever, Dread Hollow’s Deliverance Escape Rooms will test that. In “Detention,” you’re stuck with Mercy Harker herself. “Alan Wayne: The Imitation Killer” makes you chase clues before a killer leaves his mark. And “Eugene Todd” is a race against time…or against ending up as the final victim.
But what really sets Dread Hollow apart is how immersive it is. There are no cheap shocks here; the scares are in the stories, the spaces, the history. It lingers. If you’re after something that sticks with you after you leave – something a little dark and a little twisted – Dread Hollow is waiting.
The Sunset Strip has had more reinventions than Madonna, and its latest glow-up comes in the form of The Sun Rose Hotel (formerly known as Pendry West Hollywood), ‘til it decided a new name (and personality) was in order.
Named after its already-famous live music venue, The Sun Rose is a love letter to West Hollywood’s Technicolour soul. When Stevie Wonder serenades your opening party, you know you’ve hit the right note. The place now leans harder into art, music, and design, basically bottling the Strip’s kaleidoscopic chaos into a tasty five-star cocktail.
Of course, the glitz hasn’t gone anywhere. The rooms still whisper ‘luxury’ even if the rest of the hotel is screaming ‘let’s party.’ At the top, Merois – helmed by the legendary Wolfgang Puck – remains a rooftop dining temple, where Asian-inspired flavours flirt with skyline views. Think crispy suckling pig in one hand, a Negroni in the other, and the Hollywood Hills twinkling like a backdrop someone spent too much money on.
Since its transformation, this place has become a stage, a canvas, and a front-row seat to the Strip’s never-ending show. Whether you’re there for the food, the tunes, or just to say you brushed shoulders with a rock star in the lobby, The Sun Rose Hotel is reinventing what it means to check in on Sunset.
We get it. Camping’s a tough sell. But what about if you’re cocooned in a swanky safari tent that’s perched on a private deck with Mount Hood photobombing your sunrise (the perfect PNW backdrop)? That’s the vibe at Under Canvas’s brand-spanking-new glamping spot in Washington’s Columbia River Gorge, sprawled glamorously over 120 acres in the White Salmon River Valley.
Each tent has comfort for days: a king-size bed with plush linens, a gas fireplace to keep you toasty when the Pacific Northwest air gets bossy, and an ensuite bathroom with a piping hot pull-chain shower. Even your phone’s battery gets VIP treatment with handy USB packs, so there’s no excuses for not posting that dreamy sunrise snap (see intro).
The communal hub keeps the fun rolling with local artworks, trendy West Elm furnishings, café-style dining, board games, morning yoga, acoustic jams, and, naturally, nightly s’mores, because toasted marshmallows?? Like, end of sentence.
The real drawcard, though, is where you are. Adventure practically throws itself at you here: white-water rafting on the White Salmon River, hiking the trails around Mount Hood, sipping your way through more than 10 nearby vineyards, or popping into the charming towns of White Salmon and Hood River for a dose of small-town charm. All of it framed by soaring peaks, cascading waterfalls, and hillsides bursting with wildflowers.
Under Canvas Columbia River Gorge is nature turned up to eleven – luxurious, adventurous, and it’s perfect for besties, couples, fur-babies, or anyone who swears they’re “outdoorsy.”
Forget Aspen’s fur coats, Vail’s valet parking, and Park City’s $40 salads.
These five mountains are for people who actually came to ski, not to compare goggle tans in a champagne bar. Think deep powder, dive bars, and locals who’ll give you the best tips over a cheap beer instead of a concierge counter.
From Montana’s treehouses and Oregon’s haunted hotels to Utah’s powder-meets-desert views, Idaho’s secret celeb hideaway, and Colorado’s last great ski town; these spots deliver proper mountain culture. No gloss. No pretense. Just big turns, big nights, and even bigger stories.
Whitefish is where ski bums, night owls, and powder hounds collide, sometimes literally, usually at the Hellroaring Saloon. Big terrain, bigger personalities, and night skiing that’ll ruin you for daylight forever.
Whitefish is what happens when a ski town decides it doesn’t want to grow up and become Aspen. Tucked up near the Canadian border in Montana, it’s got big-mountain skiing without the big-mountain attitude. The locals are friendly, the beer’s cheap, and the powder’s so dry you’ll swear the snowflakes were freeze-dried by hand.
The mountain itself is huge. With over 3,000 acres of skiable terrain, you’ll find everything from mellow cruisers to thigh-burning tree runs. And if you haven’t shredded under the lights yet, Whitefish offers night skiing, a surreal, slightly spooky experience where you carve turns under the stars while a faint whiff of woodsmoke floats up from the valley below. Pro tip: bow to Big Mountain Jesus on your first run for good luck. Trust us.
“Night skiing under a billion stars and finishing the run in a bar with sticky floors, Whitefish is Aspen’s cooler, cheaper, drunker cousin.”
Après-ski here is delightfully unpretentious. Locals migrate straight from the slopes into town to spots like the Great Northern Bar, where pool tables and pints replace champagne buckets and charcuterie boards. Expect live music, sticky floors, and the occasional cowboy hat, sometimes all on the same person.
For accommodation, you could stay in a hotel… but you’re better off booking the Ponderosa Treehouse. It’s part Swiss Family Robinson, part ski bum fantasy: a cabin perched high among the pines, with panoramic views and a toasty fire waiting after a day smashing powder stashes.
Add in Glacier National Park just down the road, and you’ve got yourself a proper winter playground without the pretension.
Skiing Mt. Hood feels like stepping into a Stephen King novel — minus the murder (usually). The Timberline Lodge, perched on the slopes, doubled as the infamous Overlook Hotel in The Shining, so you can spend your après imagining Jack Nicholson lurking behind the bar whispering, “Here’s Johnny!”
The mountain itself is a beast, offering skiing nearly year-round thanks to its volcanic glacier and the highest elevation ski slopes in North America. You’ll get everything from wide-open groomers to tight tree runs where you’ll pray to every snow god you know.
For a true locals’ experience, rent a log cabin in the woods around Mt. Hood Village.
There’s something primal about waking up surrounded by towering pines, brewing coffee on a wood stove, and heading out into crisp alpine air knowing your day involves both adrenaline and craft beer.
Après-ski here is perfectly Oregonian. It’s laid-back, slightly hipster, and deeply committed to local brews. Check out Mt. Hood Brewing Co. for a pint of Ice Axe IPA and a pile of pub grub big enough to feed a snowboard team. Stick around long enough and someone will inevitably offer you a local tip involving “secret stashes,” which may or may not refer to powder.
And if you need a day off and if your legs still work, snowshoe through silent old-growth forests where the only sound is snow crunching underfoot and maybe the faint echo of “redrum” if you’ve had one too many at après.
At Brian Head, you’re carving powder while staring at red rock cliffs that look like they’ve been stolen from Mars. It’s part ski resort, part desert fever dream, and somehow, it works perfectly.
Brian Head is what happens when a ski resort gets dropped into a desert painting. From the top of the runs, you’ll gaze out over fiery cliffs and bizarre hoodoo formations dusted with snow like some surreal mash-up of skiing and Mars colonisation.
The vibe here is about as far from Park City’s glitz as you can get. Locals roll up in pickups, not Porsches, and the après scene is low-key but lively. Head to the Last Chair Grill and Brews. Grab a craft brewski, swap stories with strangers who’ll become mates by sundown, and soak up a genuine mountain-town energy.
Brian Head is also a family-friendly gem. The mountain has just the right balance of approachable greens and sneaky double blacks, so you can introduce the kids to skiing while still scaring yourself silly on the steeps. And if you need a break, there’s tubing, snowmobiling, or simply parking yourself at a firepit to bask in 300+ days of Utah sunshine.
What really seals the deal is the contrast deep powder under bluebird skies, framed by alien-looking red rocks that make every photo look like a Photoshop job. It’s Utah, but it feels like nowhere else on Earth.
Sun Valley’s where celebrities go to disappear and ski bums go to pretend they’re locals. Clint Eastwood and Arnie love it, but the real star here is Ketchum, a cowboy-cool town where whiskey flows faster than fresh powder.
Sun Valley might be America’s original ski resort, but it’s still somehow managed to fly under the radar of the masses. This is where the Hollywood set comes to hide, trading paparazzi for powder days. It’s where you’ll find Clint Eastwood filling up his old ute at the bowser next to you and where Arnold Schwarzenegger has his own run named after him. Funnily enough it was previously called Flying Maid. They must have a sense of humour in Sun Valley.
The skiing is stellar: 2,000 acres of perfectly groomed trails mixed with sneaky bowls and glades for when you want to disappear. But the real magic happens in Ketchum, the cowboy-cool town at the mountain’s base. Think wooden boardwalks, neon-lit saloons, and bars where everyone from ski bums to billionaires ends up drinking the same $6 whiskey.
Hit the Pioneer Saloon for prime rib the size of your head and walls covered in taxidermy, then stumble across the street to Whiskey Jacques for live bands and a shot or three of local rye. Ketchum’s got an authenticity that big-name resorts lost decades ago. It’s where Wild West grit meets ski-town chic, and somehow, it works.
If you’re lucky, you’ll end up in a random late-night poker game with a retired Olympian and a guy who swears he once sold a snowboard to Dirty Harry. Sun Valley has that energy: stories waiting to happen, with a side of perfect corduroy.
Crested Butte is Colorado’s last great ski town. No designer après boots, no velvet ropes, just steep chutes, cheap beer, and locals who’ll drink you under the table before showing you their secret powder stashes.
If you ask any hardcore skier where their heart lives, odds are they’ll whisper, almost reverently: Crested Butte. This is the last true locals’ mountain in Colorado. It’s a funky, unpretentious town paired with some of the steepest, most rewarding terrain in the Rockies.
This mountain doesn’t mess around. Expect leg-shredding double blacks, narrow chutes that test your nerve, and enough hidden powder stashes to keep you busy for weeks. But it’s the town that seals the deal. Painted Victorian houses, quirky dive bars, and a main street straight out of a snow globe — Crested Butte oozes charm without even trying.
Après here is an art form. Start with a local pint at The Public House, then graduate to Montanya Distillers for small-batch rum cocktails that will blow your frostbitten socks off. Finish the night at The Dogwood, a cozy cabin bar serving craft concoctions in what feels like your weird uncle’s living room.
And the vibe? Pure magic. Locals still outnumber tourists, no one cares what you’re wearing, and the conversations range from avalanche conditions to which band’s playing down the street. Crested Butte feels like skiing used to be before the luxury condos, $40 lift sandwiches, and designer après boots.
If you’re chasing big lines, bigger laughs, and a ski town that still feels like a secret, Crested Butte’s your place. Just… don’t tell too many people.
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