My son Wilder has been to all seven continents and 35 countries, and he just turned eight. He has opinions about hotels the way most kids have opinions about chicken nuggets (more on that later). Strong, unwavering, completely confident opinions. And after years of dragging him across the globe, I've learned to trust them completely.
Here are the hotels that earned his highest honor: "Can we come back tomorrow?"
De L'Europe Amsterdam, Amsterdam, Netherlands
Wilder fell in love with Amsterdam the moment we stepped off the boat onto the cobblestones, and De L'Europe made the trip unforgettable. Perched right on the banks of the Amstel River, it's grand and beautiful without ever making you feel like you need to tiptoe around. We went to an Ajax match while we were in town, Wilder's idea of a perfect afternoon, and came back to the hotel to find a soccer ball waiting in his room. The staff had noticed he was a football kid and just took care of it. No fuss, no fanfare. That's the thing about truly great hotels: they pay attention. He's been to 35 countries. De L'Europe is still the hotel he talks about when someone asks what his favorite is.
TIME + TIDE Chinzombo, South Luangwa, Zambia
I was prepared to have to bribe Wilder into appreciating a safari. I did not need to bribe him. From the moment we arrived at TIME + TIDE Chinzombo on the banks of the Luangwa River, he was completely sold. This place is as wild and beautiful as it gets: elephants wandering past at dusk, hippos grunting through the night, the kind of Africa that feels both ancient and alive. The camp is spectacular, with stunning tents that make you feel immersed in the bush rather than just visiting it. Wilder went on his first game drives here and came back each time buzzing with something new to report. "We saw a hippo poop," he announced at dinner one night, like he personally had arranged it. For a kid who's been everywhere, this was the place that made his jaw actually drop.
Ashford Castle, County Mayo, Ireland
Here's the thing about Ashford Castle: they didn't just welcome Wilder, they made him feel like royalty. Literally. When we arrived for dinner, there were Prince Wilder name tags on the table. A Lego Butler delivered a set to his room. He watched a movie in the private theater and rode horses through the grounds. His horse's name was Sparkles, a detail he has now shared with approximately everyone he's met since. The castle itself is breathtaking, a 13th-century fortress on the shores of Lough Corrib, and what really gets you is how thoughtfully the staff pull it all off. Nothing feels performative. They just genuinely care. "I want to live here," Wilder announced on our last morning. I told him we'd have to talk about the budget. He was not deterred.
Castelfalfi, Tuscany, Italy
Getting Wilder to leave Castelfalfi was, frankly, a negotiation. The medieval Tuscan village, restored and reimagined into one of Italy's most magical resorts, has a kids' club with its own pizza oven, and once Wilder discovered that, the rest of Tuscany ceased to exist. He made pizza. He did the ropes course. He splashed around in the giant pool until his fingers pruned. He took a pizza-making class and came home with serious opinions about dough thickness. The property itself is stunning, rolling hills, olive groves, centuries of history layered into every stone, but I'll be honest: he was mostly thinking about when he could get back to the kids' club. "Best place ever," he declared on the first night.
Gypsea Beach Houses, St. Barts
St. Barts was already pretty hard to argue with, and then there was Gypsea. These beach houses are private, sun-soaked, and effortlessly cool, with direct beach access that meant Wilder could go from his bed to the sand in about thirty seconds flat. He made very good use of that. He also made very good use of the private swimming pool, which became his personal domain for the duration of our stay. But honestly? What he still talks about most are the chicken nuggets. I don't know what they do to those chicken nuggets at Gypsea, but whatever it is, it worked. "Mom, those were the best chicken nuggets of my life," he told me, completely seriously, somewhere over the Atlantic on the way home. In the pantheon of Wilder's travel memories, they've held their ranking ever since.
