And yet, about two dozen women residents and visitors have found a hidden sanctuary from its bustle in a spot over a small bridge and under an ornate arch with an engraved Latin phrase “sauvegarde,” or “safe place” in English.

Nestled in a sea of yellow daffodils lies an oasis of calm and tranquility founded in 1245: the Princely Beguinage Ten Wijngaerde of Bruges.

For 22 years, Trees Dewever has called this beguinage her home. She said it provides "an overwhelming feeling of calm and I think we need that in this world.”

Her neighbor, 23-year beguinage resident Jo Verplaetsen, said the spirit of the medieval shelter is today soothing and social.

“Each day you are thankful to be here," she said.

A refuge for women from medieval to modern woes

However serene now, the beguinages emerged after the 12th century as an antidote to devastation.

Conflicts in the Middle Ages ravaged the male population, creating a glut of widows and single women who needed some kind of stability. They often chose the looser rules of the beguinages instead of stricter convents, said Michel Vanholder, a volunteer at the Grand Beguinage Church of Mechelen.

“They didn’t want to go become nuns but nevertheless they wanted to live together without men because there were not enough men to marry," he said.

Women who joined were called beguines, and while forbidden to marry while residing in the beguinages, they were allowed free egress, could own their own property and did not take religious vows of celibacy and poverty like nuns in adjacent convents.

“Women who didn’t want to become real nuns or religious could have an in-between form, becoming a beguine," said Brigitte Beernaert, who moved into the Bruges beguinage more than 20 years ago.

Women in the beguinage often worked caring for the sick and poor, but also earned money with needlework and weaving lace. Some plowed profits back into the community.

But the beguinages were at different times embraced and persecuted by the Vatican. One prominent beguine, the French Christian mystic Marguerite Porete, was condemned as a heretic and burned at the stake in 1310.

Novelists Ken Follett, Charlotte Brönte and Umberto Eco have written about the beguines and their male counterparts the beghards.

Architecturally, the beguinages were designed for like-minded women to live in comfort, quiet and safety, with small gardens tucked into either easily accessible alleys or around a main square with houses facing a common courtyard. The heart of the community was almost always a chapel or church.

Today, UNESCO recognizes as world heritage sites 13 beguinages in Flanders, the Dutch-speaking northern half of Belgium.

German tourist Biata Weissbaeker who was visiting Bruges with her husband Achim said that such spaces were and remain crucial.

“Women need a place like this: a safe place that gives them the possibility to go inside themselves.”

The changing traditions of the beguinages

While the last beguine in Belgium, Marcella Pattijn, died in 2013 at the age of 92, the central tenet of the beguinage community has persevered over the past 800 years.

“Once you are in here, you are safe — that was of course literal in the Middle Ages, once you lived here, the law couldn’t take you away,” she said. “Today it’s more like a safe place for women alone.”

The beguinage of Bruges to this day still allows only women, although the grounds are now owned and maintained by the city itself, with residents renting from the city.

The beguinages of Belgium organize public activities hoping to foster community within through gardening, and outside through open houses.

A few of the Bruges residents recently planted raspberry bushes against the wall near the canal and they keep bee hives for honey. “The world is terrible for the moment, and this gives us the impression that it’s still safe here," said Beernaert. "This gives Bruges already a little bit of a small paradise, if you want. And living inside that paradise feels unbelievable.

The airline will soon open bookings for four-hour stints in the Skynest sleep pods and says they will be the first lie-flat beds for budget air travelers. Fliers will get cozy with their fellow passengers, however, so crumbs, strong perfumes and bedsharing are forbidden.

The curtained berths will be available to economy and premium economy fliers on the airline’s new Boeing 787-9 Dreamliner aircraft from November. The planes will service the Auckland to New York route, which is one of the world’s longest commercial flights and leaves economy passengers sitting upright for a marathon 16 to 18 hours.

Instead, travelers will have the option of a pre-booked four-hour spot in a curtained pod, with costs starting from 495 New Zealand dollars ($291) on top of the price of their economy tickets. But use of the six pods, arranged in a triple-bunk style layout between cabins, will put fliers in close proximity to others, prompting the airline to publish etiquette notes.

Passengers must refrain from snacking in the pods, which can’t be used by children or any additional visitors.

“That means solo snoozes only please, no musical nests or tag-teaming,” Air New Zealand’s website says. For those worried about cleanliness, the airline assures travelers that the pillows, blankets and sheets supplied “are all refreshed” between four-hour naps.

Fliers are also required to change into specially provided socks to enter the pod, fasten their seatbelts over their blankets and forgo dousing themselves in any smelly “perfumes or potions.” Passengers will be woken by a gentle change in lighting at the end of their four-hour stint in the bunk – or by a flight attendant, possibly less gently, if they don’t rouse in time.

Each berth is about the length of a regular bed — 80 inches or 203 cm — but the pods don’t leave headroom for sitting up and access “requires bending, kneeling, crawling, or climbing into the space,” the aircraft’s website says. The bunks are 25 inches (64 cm) wide at shoulder height, tapering to 16 inches (41 cm) at the foot of the beds.

Seats or couches that convert into beds in the sky aren’t a new offering for business and first class travelers, but Air New Zealand believes its lie-flat bunks for economy travelers will be a world first.

The offering from New Zealand’s national carrier is the latest from airlines seeking to sell seat upgrades and other add-ons to economy travelers. Air New Zealand first announced the economy beds were in development in 2020.

The airline has increased fares and cut some domestic flights from its schedule in response to increased jet fuel costs during the war in the Middle East. In March, it suspended its earnings outlook due to fuel price volatility and warned that more changes to its routes were possible.

But on one of its longest flights, travelers might finally get some shut-eye — although they should expect snoring, for which earplugs are provided, the airline said.

“Statistically, someone’s going to do it,” Air New Zealand’s website reads. “It might be you.”

Noctourism is turning nighttime into a core part of travel, as destinations and hotels create scheduled, bookable experiences that only take place after dark. Industry data shows rising demand for after-dark travel, with recent global surveys reporting that a majority of travelers now consider trips that include nighttime experiences. That shift is changing how itineraries are structured, with evening hours becoming a primary window for timed, limited-access activities rather than leftover time after a day of sightseeing.

Demand for nighttime experiences grows

Cities and tourism boards no longer treat nighttime as overflow hours. Instead, they build after-dark access into the itinerary in response to rising demand for nighttime experiences. Recent global surveys show that a majority of travelers are considering trips that include activities after sunset.

To meet that demand, destinations are introducing guided tours, scheduled activities and limited-entry experiences that extend engagement beyond peak daytime hours. Rather than simply staying open later, they design these offerings as timed experiences that give travelers a specific reason to plan around the evening.

Hotels design nighttime as a headline experience

Hotels are increasingly treating the night as a primary driver of bookings, building scheduled experiences that define the after-sunset program. These are not casual evening add-ons but curated events designed to stand on their own.

On Mexico's Riviera Maya, La Casa de la Playa stages monthly Full Moon Nights that combine ritual, culture and dining into a single program. Evenings begin with a beachside purification ceremony honoring Mayan lunar traditions and the goddess Ixchel, followed by intention-setting rituals and a six-course menu by Martha Ortiz, inspired by lunar phases and paired with Mexican wines.

At Golden Door, The Circle transforms the property's labyrinth into a purpose-built nighttime venue during a seasonal late-summer run. A 360-degree, 10-foot-high stage surrounds guests with live performances by visiting musicians, while a series of large-scale nature films by filmmaker Louie Schwartzberg play across multiple screens. The combination of music, moving imagery and open-air setting slows the pace of the evening and creates a more engaging, thoughtful experience after dark.

In Napa Valley, The Meritage Resort and Spa offers Moonlight in the Vines, a guided full-moon meditation set among the vineyards, while nearby Fairmont Sonoma Mission Inn & Spa extends spa access into the evening with after-hours use of its geothermal pools.

Night tours and guided experiences reshape how cities are explored

Urban destinations are also repositioning nighttime as a primary window for exploration, with guided experiences that shift how travelers move through a place.

In Hong Kong's Wan Chai district, The Hari Hong Kong offers a private evening tour that runs for about two and a half hours, guiding guests through one of the city's oldest neighborhoods. The experience includes stops at street markets, a 140-year-old tea shop and local food vendors, along with cultural practices such as "villain hitting," a traditional form of folk ritual. Guests also ride the historic Ding Ding tram and explore nearby Causeway Bay, with the tour designed to layer history, daily life and cultural context into a single after-dark itinerary.

Entire landscapes open up after dark

Beyond scheduled events, nighttime also changes how destinations themselves are experienced, opening access to environments that are not visible during the day.

Along the Sonoma coast, bioluminescent kayak tours led by Watertreks Eco Tours offer a guided way for guests to experience this shift firsthand. Operating seasonally from summer through fall, the tours take place in the Russian River Estuary and nearby Pacific waters, where microscopic organisms called dinoflagellates emit light when disturbed. Each paddle stroke creates a glowing trail, illuminating marine life and currents in real time. The tours are timed to darker, moonless nights when visibility is strongest, turning the experience into a scheduled natural event.

At Rio Perdido, nighttime reveals a different side of a 1,500-acre reserve defined by canyon, forest and geothermal features. Guided Nature at Night Walks follow naturalists through the property as nocturnal species emerge, while canyon ziplining and evening soaks in the hot springs shift familiar daytime activities into a quieter, after-dark setting.

Nighttime becomes a core travel window

As destinations and operators expand scheduled programming, nighttime is increasingly treated as a standard part of travel rather than an afterthought. The shift is evident in broader demand trends, with recent global surveys revealing that a majority of travelers prefer itineraries that include nighttime experiences, making after-dark access a defining factor in trip planning.

Travelers are no longer filling time between daytime attractions. They are choosing when to experience a place, with nighttime now structuring the trip.

“Live music nourishes your soul and makes you feel truly alive,” says Chris Bro, host of the “Next” radio show in Maryland and a longtime fan of music festivals.

Making the most of the experience also means planning ahead for potential hazards like heat, dehydration and more, say regular festivalgoers and the medical pros who care for them.

The good news is music festivals are safer than ever, thanks to increased focus on on-site medical staff and equipment, says Matt Friedman, national medical director at CrowdRx, which provides medical care at over 20 major music festivals around the country each year.

Different festivals, different risks

Different types of festivals tend to have different types of medical emergencies, Friedman says. Much depends on the type of music, the length of the festival and the heat.

"Jazz music festivals tend have a low medical-usage rate, whereas a heavy metal event will have more blunt traumas from mosh pits and alcohol-related incidents,” he says.

Electronic dance music festivals tend to have friendly crowds, some of whom "occasionally overindulge or make poor decisions regarding stimulant drugs,” Friedman says. Classical music festivals, meanwhile, tend to have more cardiac events, given the older average age of attendees.

“You want to have fun, but it’s really important to stay aware,” says Armelle Gloaguen, a musician who attended classic festivals like Clearwater, founded by Pete Seeger, and Woodstock ’94.

“Be there for the music, not the drugs and alcohol, if you want to remember any of it. Don’t accept food or drinks from strangers, and be aware of your limits,” advises Gloaguen, who owns “Armelle for Kids,” which seeks to bridge cultures through music.

Know the rules, and download the app

Festivals' rules vary, so before you head out, check the parking situation and the list of what you can bring.

For instance, Coachella, the annual festival in Indio, California, doesn’t allow chairs, outside food or umbrellas. At Tanglewood, in western Massachusetts, attendees are welcome to bring chairs and picnics, and umbrellas are fine; they just can’t be over 6 feet across.

Download a festival's app and bring a portable phone charger.

Once there, scope out the terrain. Keep an eye out for the nearest cooling station and medical tent as you figure out where to sit.

Handling the heat

“First and foremost, we see a lot of heat-related illnesses, since temperatures in the desert can get pretty high and rise quickly,” says Julie Puzzo, assistant medical director of the emergency department at JFK Memorial Hospital, near Coachella.

“We see everything from heat cramps to heat stroke, which can be life threatening,” she says.

Hydrate consistently with electrolyte-containing beverages, she says.

Wear layers, a hat and other protective clothing, and avoid excessive alcohol. Opt for non-aerosol sunscreen, since many festival venues ban aerosol sprays.

Festivals where heat is an issue are sometimes equipped with mobile cold-water immersion tanks to cool people down quickly, Friedman says.

At multiday festivals, malnutrition can also be an issue, he says. “People are running on adrenaline for the first two days, but by day three they realize they are dehydrated and exhausted and haven’t eaten nutritious food since they arrived, and this exacerbates any other conditions they might have.”

His top safety tip: Stick with your friends so you can watch out for one another.

Leave sandals, heels and flip-flops at home

Both doctors urge attendees to wear comfortable, closed-toe shoes, since attending a festival can involve more walking that you might expect. And it’s easy to happen upon small stones or other sharp objects on the grounds.

“Trips and falls are common, and we see a lot of sprains and foot contusions,” says Friedman.

Glasses, ear plugs, maybe an inhaler

For anyone susceptible to respiratory problems, it’s a good idea to bring a backup inhaler, since dust-filled wind gusts can exacerbate breathing issues, Puzzo says.

Eye problems like corneal abrasions are not uncommon at festivals, says Friedman, who recommends bringing large sunglasses or even goggles if it’s likely to be dusty.

Outdoor venues can get buggy, too, so consider insect repellent.

Protect your ears by not standing too close to speakers, and bring earplugs, says Greta Stamper, an audiologist at Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida.

“It is also helpful to take listening pauses during festivals to allow your ears an opportunity to take a break. Having some quieter moments during the day can help your ears recover,” she says.

If you notice that your hearing is muffled or your ears start ringing, your ears are telling you it's too loud, Stamper says.

And if you’re coming with kids, give them added protection with over-the-ear headphones, not just earplugs, Friedman says.

Pace yourself

“Musical festivals are a marathon, not a sprint, so be sensible and take care of yourself,” Friedman says.

As you kick back with friends, it’s easy to have a few drinks too many as the day wears on. Puzzo warns that drugs acquired at some big events might not contain what people think they do. This can be dangerous in any case, and is even more so if combined with extreme heat and alcohol.

Embrace the moment

Don't forget, though, to find joy in the music and the scene.

Enjoy the unexpected, and making connections.

“If you want to talk to your favorite musician, the most meaningful thing you can do is to thank them and talk about a specific song you love and why,” says Gloaguen.

But this season, major cruise lines are skipping it. A massive landslide last summer sent parts of a glacier crashing into the water, generated a tsunami and pushed a wave high up the opposite mountain wall. Several companies opting out cited safety concerns with the still-hazardous slopes.

“Tracy Arm is the majestic princess, you know, she is the queen of fjords,” said travel agent Nate Vallier.

The destination cruise and tour companies have chosen as an alternative — nearby Endicott Arm and Dawes Glacier — is “still beautiful by any means, but it’s just not the same,” he said.

Tracy Arm, southeast of Juneau, is a roughly 30-mile (50-kilometer) fjord that features two tidewater glaciers — the North and South Sawyer — and wildlife, including seals and bears.

Early on Aug. 10, 2025, a landslide originating high on a slope above the toe of the South Sawyer, near the head of the fjord, sent water surging more than a quarter mile (more than half a kilometer) up the mountain wall opposite the slide and out Tracy Arm.

No ships were in the fjord, officials said, and no deaths or injuries were reported. But kayakers camped on an island near where Tracy and Endicott arms meet had much of their gear swept away by the rushing water.

Southeast Alaska, largely encompassed by a temperate rainforest, is no stranger to landslides. And while it's long been known the fjord network in the Tracy Arm region has been susceptible, the slope that failed had not been identified as an active hazard before last summer's collapse, said Gabriel Wolken, manager of the state’s climate and ice hazards program.

Scientists are working to understand not only what caused the slope to collapse but to understand what other hazards might exist in the fjord, he said.

The area remains unstable, said Steven Sobieszczyk, a U.S. Geological Survey spokesperson. Steep landslide areas continue to change for years after an initial slide, he said by email.

“Continued rockfall and small-scale sliding from the exposed landslide scar are expected and could impact the water, potentially causing a future localized tsunami,” he said.

Major cruise companies, including Holland America, Carnival Cruise Line and Royal Caribbean said in response to inquiries from The Associated Press that they are replacing a Tracy Arm visit with Endicott Arm. MSC Cruises, Virgin Voyages and regional tour company Allen Marine also are doing Endicott and Dawes Glacier instead. Norwegian Cruise Line said it does not have voyages sailing by Tracy Arm.

Endicott already has been a stop for some ships previously and an alternative when conditions in Tracy Arm, such as excess ice, have been unsafe.

Vallier, who owns the Alaska Travel Desk, said he would have liked cruise companies to give travelers more advance notice about itinerary changes.

After leaving Seattle, the first ships of the season are due April 21 in Ketchikan and in Juneau the following week.

Seeing a glacier — particularly a dynamic, calving glacier — is a bucket-list item for many tourists, and that's what has made Tracy Arm so popular, he said. While the Mendenhall Glacier in Juneau is a major attraction for the capital city and cruise port, many visitors view it from across a large lake, and it has diminished or entirely retreated from view from some hiking overlooks.

Kimberly Lebeda of Wichita, Kansas, was excited when she booked tickets for a Tracy Arm excursion for her family last year. Lebeda, who researches areas she visits, said she was sold on the scenery.

But the night before the stop, they were told that due to ice in Tracy Arm, they would go up Endicott instead. Her family and others who'd booked the excursion got off the ship and onto a smaller boat with glass windows, abundant seating and snacks. They saw seals on ice floes, waterfalls and “a wall of ice” calve from Dawes Glacier, she said.

She called it “an amazing thing to witness.”

“Was it worth it? Yes, because I don’t know if I'll ever get to do that trip again,” she said. “Again, I haven’t ever been to Tracy Arm so I can’t really compare. But to me, was it worth it and was it exciting? Absolutely.”

Social media was soon awash with the lovely view of Japan's snow-capped Mount Fuji looming over a red pagoda and the short-lived cherry blossoms that herald the approach of spring.

Tourists wanting a similar shot soon packed this peaceful town at the foot of the mountain. The complaints were not far behind: chronic traffic jams; piles of litter; ill-mannered foreigners knocking on doors of private homes to borrow toilets; tourists relieving themselves in front yards.

It got so bad officials in Fujiyoshida announced in February that they were canceling this year’s annual cherry blossom festival, which started as a way to promote tourism a decade ago.

What locals are calling “tourism pollution” has illuminated a broader problem for Japan: As the country's economic malaise deepens, officials are eager for the economic boost of increased tourism, even as local communities find themselves entirely unprepared for what a small army of foreign visitors means for their communities.

10,000 tourists a day 'threaten residents' daily lives'

“This area is primarily an ordinary residential neighborhood, where balancing (tourism) with the safety of people's living environment has become difficult,” Masatoshi Hada, manager of the Fujiyoshida Economics and Environment Department, told The Associated Press. “We decided not to promote a festival that would invite more visitors.”

Even without the festival, foreign tourists packed the area on a sunny day in early April when cherry blossoms reached their prime. The narrow streets up to the popular Arakurayama Sengen Park were filled as the visitors lined up for a chance film the world-famous panoramic views.

In recent years, foreign tourists have exceeded 10,000 per day in the area, something that has “threatened residents’ daily lives,” the city said in a statement in February.

‘Tourism pollution’ across Japan

Overtourism has also been seen in other popular destinations in Japan, like Kyoto and Kamakura. In Kyoto, locals complain of tourists with large suitcases clogging city buses.

“Tourism pollution” comes as Japan confronts a rapidly growing population of foreign workers brought in as the country's population dwindles and ages. The combination has led to xenophobia, and Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi ’s nationalistic government has proposed tougher rules on foreigners.

Even as it promises to address overtourism concerns, the government wants to boost the current level of 40 million inbound tourists to 60 million visitors by 2030.

Locals find the tourism ‘good but annoying’

Beginning April 1, at the start of the region’s cherry blossom season, Fujiyoshida increased its security guards and restricted entry of tour buses and vehicles into the scenic neighborhood, requiring visitors to reach the park on foot.

On a recent day, security guard Hiroaki Nagayama gestured to passersby so they would stay out of busy areas. He asked tourists to throw cigarette butts in designated places and tried to help the lost.

“I’m struggling. I cannot communicate with them in Japanese. Some people buy food at stalls and leave litter behind,” Nagayama says. “I think what’s happening here is a typical example of overtourism.”

Sitting on a bench outside his house just a couple of blocks away, Hitoshi Mori, 93, says having many visitors is “good but annoying.”

“It’s too crowded outside so I can only get groceries once a week and stock up on food,” he says.

Tourists enjoy the view and culture, despite crowds

Tourists, meanwhile, seem delighted by the spectacular view, despite many signs popping up that order them to behave better. There are also hours-long lines to get to cherished scenic spots.

“It’s pretty (well) organized. When they let you come in, you have like five minutes to take as many pictures as you can, and it was amazing,” said Lisa Goerdert from Paris.

Vicky Tran, who came from Melbourne, Australia, with her family and friends, said they could not go all the way up to see the pagoda with Mount Fuji and the cherry blossoms, because it was too crowded. Still, she said she enjoyed the view and the neighborhood.

Overtourism dividing residents

The overtourism has opened divisions between residents who want quiet and those who have started businesses using their yards to operate toll parking or setting up new shops or food stalls.

In a nearby shopping arcade that once had many closed mom-and-pop shops, business has picked up after another viral social media shot showed Mount Fuji looming over the street.

Throngs of tourists stand in the street to take photos of Mount Fuji, often blocking traffic, with frustrated vehicles honking.

The sudden flood of visitors is a huge change “for people like us who are used to a quiet suburban lifestyle,” says Masami Nakamura, who runs a decades-old school uniform shop with her husband. “I only hope the tourists respect our rules and manners.”

The crowds are a big change even for those who are seeing increased business.

“I once almost hit a tourist who jumped into the street without looking,” said Kyoko Funakubo, a 60-year-old employee at a local hotel and a part-time vendor selling Fuji-themed souvenirs. “This place used to be almost abandoned, with many shuttered shops. But now, with many stores reopened or new shops that have opened, I feel good seeing this area come alive again.”

Trixie Mattel, born Brian Firkus, transformed a former 1950s motor court into a seven-room haven painted in signature hot pink, complete with a heated pool, private patios, and rooms themed around Mattel's personal obsessions like country music, vintage toys, and kitsch aesthetics. Guests can lounge by the pool under palm trees, sip cocktails from the on-site Barbara Bar, or explore nearby attractions such as the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway or Joshua Tree National Park, all while immersed in an environment explicitly affirming for LGBTQ+ visitors. The motel's mission focuses on providing a safe and fun space for everyone, with amenities like curated vinyl collections for in-room record players and a gift shop stocked with Mattel's branded merch, from beauty products to apparel.

What sets the Trixie Motel apart in Palm Springs' competitive hospitality landscape is its unapologetic embrace of queer culture. Palm Springs has a storied history as an LGBTQ+ destination, evolving from a retirement haven to a progressive hotspot with events like the Greater Palm Springs Pride festival, which attracts over 200,000 attendees each November. The motel aligns seamlessly with this legacy, offering not just lodging but an experience that fuels local queer community events through its visibility and economic contributions. As noted in travel guides spotlighting LGBTQ+-owned businesses, properties like this support the entrepreneurs who often organize festivals and programming that boost tourism dollars.

Each of the  Trixie Motel's  seven uniquely decorated rooms tells a story reflective of Mattel's multifaceted persona. The "Yeehaw Cowgirl" suite channels Western flair with custom cow-print murals and Southwestern accents, while the "Malibu Barbara" room features beachy, tropical vibes and pink-and-blue decor, appealing to guests who appreciate playful nostalgia. Larger suites like "Pink Flamingo" offer kitchenettes and semi-private outdoor patios, ideal for couples or small groups exploring the area's hiking trails or golf courses. Reviews from LGBTQ+ travelers praise the motel's intimate scale—most rooms cater to two guests—ensuring privacy and a sense of community without overwhelming crowds.

The  heated pool , surrounded by signature pink-and-white lounge chairs and umbrellas, serves as the social heart of the property, where guests—many from the LGBTQ+ community—relax with signature cocktails from the  Barbara Bar . Unlike a self-serve honor bar, the Barbara Bar is a full-service lounge offering custom drinks and snacks during set hours. Each morning,  complimentary breakfast baskets —typically containing croissants, yogurt, and orange juice—are provided for guests to enjoy in their rooms or on their private patios, setting a relaxed tone for days spent at nearby attractions like the  Palm Springs Art Museum . Evening brings opportunities to join impromptu gatherings or venture to local queer-friendly spots like Toucans Tiki Lounge, located just a short 10-minute walk away. This integration with Palm Springs' ecosystem makes the Trixie Motel a hub for authentic tourism, where visitors support a business that reinvests in the local community.

For transgender and non-binary travelers, the motel's affirming vibe extends to practicalities: all-gender restrooms, diverse staff, and a no-judgment policy that resonates deeply in a tourist spot where inclusivity varies. Mattel has shared in interviews how designing the motel was about creating "a place where queer people can feel at home, "drawing from her own experiences navigating less welcoming spaces. This person-first approach ensures transgender people, lesbian travelers, gay men, and others find respite amid Palm Springs'high-season bustle.

As a small LGBTQ+-owned business, the Trixie Motel contributes to Palm Springs' $1.9 billion annual visitor economy, which relies on unique draws to stand out from major hubs like Las Vegas or Los Angeles. By attracting fans of Mattel and queer travelers worldwide, it fills a specific niche for personality-driven boutique stays. Inclusion in directories like Palm Springs Preferred Small Hotels underscores its role in the city's network of welcoming accommodations, helping tourists discover verified, inclusive spots that reinvest in the local community.

The motel's success highlights a broader trend: LGBTQ+-owned businesses in Palm Springs foster a vibrant local economy by hosting inclusive events and high-profile brand activations. Mattel's involvement extends into the artistic community; the property features custom room art and murals developed in collaboration with queer-favorite designers like Dani Dazey and artists such as Very Gay Paint. Travel experts note that such "personality-led" establishments fuel the queer tourism sector by attracting a global fanbase that reinvests in the city's unique hospitality ecosystem.

The motel's availability mirrors the Palm Springs calendar, offering a pink-hued home base for major events like Coachella or romantic desert escapes for Pride. While the experience is high-end—with rates typically starting around $450 per night—guests rave about the value found in the property's immersive design and inclusive perks, such as curated vinyl records and complimentary breakfast. This model proves highly sustainable, blending the profitability of a world-class boutique hotel with a deep-rooted commitment to queer advocacy and visibility.

In an era where affirming travel is paramount, the Trixie Motel exemplifies how a specific business in a tourist hotspot can prioritize safety and joy for LGBTQ+ people. Its certification alignments with networks like IGLTA and features in inclusive directories position it as a trusted choice. For visitors—whether first-time explorers or seasoned nomads—it offers more than a bed: it's a celebration of identity in one of America's most scenic playgrounds.

As Palm Springs continues to evolve, businesses like this ensure the destination remains a frontline for queer tourism, inviting all to revel in its desert magic. Book a stay, and you're not just vacationing—you're investing in a legacy of belonging.

To John Steinbeck, it was the Mother Road that led poor farmers from Dust Bowl desperation to sunny California. To Native Americans along the route, it was an economic boon that also left scars. To Black travelers, it offered sanctuary during segregation. And to music fans, it was the place to get their kicks.

Route 66 marks its 100th anniversary this year. Despite losing its status decades ago as one of the nation’s main arteries, people from around the world still flock to it to take perhaps the quintessential American road trip and soak in its neon lights, kitschy motels and attractions, and culinary offerings.

Each town has its own history and magic, said Sebastiaan de Boorder, a Dutch entrepreneur who, with his wife, breathed new life into The Aztec Motel in Seligman, Arizona.

“It's an essential part of American culture and history,” he said of the highway. “The historical aspect is just a very big important part of American culture, with its influence and its character.”

The dream

Route 66, which runs for roughly 2,400 miles (3,860 kilometers) from Chicago through Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona before ending in Santa Monica, California, was stitched together a century ago from a collection of Native American trading routes and old dirt roads with the goal of linking the industrial Midwest to the Pacific coast.

Oklahoma businessman Cyrus Avery, known as the Father of Route 66, saw it as more than just a way to cross the country efficiently. It was a chance to connect rural America and create new pockets of commerce.

Avery knew the number 66 would be ripe for marketing and could be seared into drivers' minds, and he was right: Route 66 has been immortalized in movies, books, including Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath” and Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road,” and songs such as Bobby Troup's “(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66,” which served as an anthem for post-World War II optimism and mobility.

Waves of migration

Since its November 1926 designation as one of the nation's original numbered highways, the onetime Main Street of America has embodied the promise of prosperity.

It became a literal path of hope for migrants escaping drought-ravaged farms and poverty during the 1930s Dust Bowl and the Great Depression. And during World War II, it was used to move troops, equipment and workers out West.

The postwar boom of the 1940s and 1950s were Route 66's heyday, as it became a popular vacation route. Cars became more affordable, disposable income increased, and people began chasing freedom on the open road.

“People generally have a sense of adventure, a sense curiosity. And you can find that on Route 66. This is the road of dreams,” author and historian Jim Hinckley said.

Going mainstream

Roadside diners and motels thrived, as crafty entrepreneurs dreamed up ways to part motorists from their money. There were rattlesnake pits, totem poles, trading posts, caverns where Old West outlaws purportedly hung out, and modern engineering marvels like St. Louis' gleaming steel arch.

Barns were painted with larger-than-life ads, billboards teased local attractions, and neon was everywhere.

The cherry on top? The food.

There were places to grab and go, but also to sit down and relish a slice of home. The Cozy Dog Drive In — famous for its breaded hot dogs on a stick — has fit both bills since 1949. Inside the dining room in Springfield, Illinois, travelers tell tales of life on the highway.

“The road wouldn’t be alive without the stories of all the places along it that kept it going from town to town,” third-generation owner Josh Waldmire said. “We just survive off each other. The road feeds us, and as long as we put our feelings and love back into the road, it will reverberate with the travelers and the stories of the people.”

A divided highway

Route 66 was an economic boon to the Native American tribes along the way. But although it brought tourists, it also left scars of eminent domain across tribal land and perpetuated stereotypes.

More than half of the highway crossed through Indian Country, and vendor signs often made casual references to tipis and feathered headdresses — symbols easily appropriated for marketing but not always representative of the distinct cultures found along the route.

At Laguna Pueblo west of Albuquerque, restaurants and service stations sprang up, some operated by military veterans from the pueblo who were masters at fixing everything from flat tires to busted radiators.

Pueblo women adapted too, turning utilitarian pottery vessels into works of art coveted by tourists. Homemade bread and pies sealed the deal.

Laguna leaders have long considered the road — or he-ya-nhee' in the tribe's language of Keres — as “the corridor of commerce,” said businessman and tribal member Ron Solimon. Capitalizing on that potential, the tribe has built a multimillion-dollar empire of casinos, burger stands and other businesses.

There were also dangers along the route, particularly during the Jim Crow era, when Black travelers had to rely on guides like the Green Book to find safe lodging and services.

“Especially for long-distance travel, segregation was a fact of life,” said Matthew Pearce, state historian for the Oklahoma Historical Society. “And so Black motorists needed to know a safe place to go.”

The Threatt Filling Station near the central Oklahoma community of Luther wasn't listed in the Green Book, but it did serve as a safe haven between two sundown towns, where people who weren't white needed to leave by sunset. The station offered barbecue and even baseball.

Edward Threatt, whose grandparents opened the station around 1933, recalled a TV program about travelers getting their kicks on 66. “By and large, the Black traveler didn’t get a lot of kicks on Route 66,” he said. “And if they got some kicks, it wasn’t the kind you would think of.”

A new direction

President Dwight Eisenhower’s vision for a modern interstate highway system eventually led to Route 66 being decommissioned as a federal highway in 1985. Some towns along the route died, and it fell to local governments, state historical societies, and private businesses to preserve their sections of the famed road.

A driving force was Angel Delgadillo, a barber who lobbied the Arizona Legislature to designate the road as a historic highway. He saved Seligman from turning into a ghost town and set the bar for preservation elsewhere.

In New Mexico, original sketches for neon signs have been preserved, Route 66-themed murals abound and developers in Albuquerque have restored motor lodges along the longest urban stretch of the road still intact.

More than 90% of the road is still drivable in California. Cadillac Ranch in the Texas Panhandle offers the chance to spray-paint half-buried cars. And at the Mississippi River, travelers can walk or bike across the old Chain of Rocks Bridge.

More than 250 of the route's buildings, districts and road segments are listed on the National Register of Historic Places. But it's more than bricks and asphalt that fuel the fascination.

“Some of the most interesting and fun things that happen to people when they travel the route is running into somebody they know or some happenstance thing that comes totally unexpected,” said author and historian Jim Ross. “And that's a great part of the Route 66 experience.”

The area's appeal for queer travelers originated in the 1980s with Bob Diller, who opened Guesthouse Lost River as a safe haven for gay politicos escaping urban scrutiny among West Virginia's mountains. Diller's vision transformed the property into a pioneering LGBTQ+-friendly lodging, offering discretion during a time when such spaces were scarce in rural America. Today, the guesthouse remains a cornerstone, hosting queer guests with rooms featuring mountain views, home-cooked meals, and a communal atmosphere that fosters connection without fanfare.

What sets Lost River apart is its emergence as an affordable, off-the-beaten-path destination in North America, appealing to those tired of high-cost hotspots. Unlike Provincetown or Palm Springs, it prioritizes restorative getaways, with rates often undercutting urban equivalents while delivering genuine hospitality. Queer travelers report feeling immediately welcomed, with hosts attuned to community needs like private trails for reflection or group hikes that build camaraderie.

Cultural Richness and Queer Community Insights

Lost River's cultural depth lies in its blend of Appalachian heritage and quiet queer affirmation. Lost River State Park offers hikes to overlooks with vistas of the valley that inspire a sense of timeless peace. Local queer community members, many of whom are long-term residents, contribute to this vibe through a close-knit, welcoming atmosphere centered around the historic Guesthouse.

Bob Diller's legacy remains the foundation of Lost River's welcoming ethos; the Guesthouse he founded in 1982 famously served as a discreet 'safe haven' during the AIDS crisis. Today’s community continues this tradition of privacy and acceptance. Visitors can enjoy local queer-owned hubs like the  Lost River Trading Post  for artisanal goods and farm-to-table treats, or practice at  Lost River Yoga , which emphasizes inclusive, mindful movement. While it shares a bohemian spirit with towns like Eureka Springs, Lost River remains a more introspective retreat focused on the natural peace of the  Lost River State Park .

Insights from queer locals highlight why Lost River remains a hidden gem: 'Here, you can be yourself without the spotlight,' notes one longtime resident, emphasizing a community that celebrates diverse identities through low-key social gatherings. This welcoming atmosphere extends to transgender and nonbinary travelers, who find a safe, affirming environment at local mainstays like the Guesthouse Lost River. While the surrounding forests offer natural peace, the area's burgeoning queer art scene is best discovered at the Lost River Trading Post, which showcases works depicting Appalachian queer joy and resilience.

Vivid Local Details and Outdoor Welcomes

Mornings in the valley begin with fog lifting to reveal mountain meadows. At the  Guesthouse Lost River , guests enjoy a communal country breakfast that often sparks conversations about the area's history as a queer sanctuary. For outdoor immersion,  Lost River State Park  offers miles of trails and historic pioneer homesteads, while the nearby  Cacapon River  provides a peaceful setting for eagle-spotting from a canoe. In the evening, the low light pollution makes for world-class stargazing at local firesides. While iconic landmarks like  Seneca Rocks  offer dramatic views for the adventurous, the real heart of the trip is the quiet, affirming connection found at local queer-owned hubs like the  Lost River Trading Post .

Why It's Emerging as a Hidden Gem

Lost River's rise stems from its contrast to overt destinations, positioning it as an emerging haven for queer travelers craving authenticity. Post-pandemic, demand for rural escapes surged, with LGBTQ+ visitors seeking spaces like this for mental health recharge amid nature's embrace. Its proximity to D. C. —just a three-hour drive—makes it ideal for weekend getaways, yet its obscurity keeps crowds away, preserving the intimate feel.

Cross-referenced sources confirm its status: travel compilations list it among eight under-the-radar North American spots, emphasizing affordability and hospitality. While not featuring drag brunches, it excels in subtle affirmations, like rainbow flags on discreet porches and ally-owned farms supplying queer events. Community growth includes young queer families relocating for affordability and safety, bolstering its reputation.

Comparisons to peers like Ogunquit, Maine, or Hudson, New York, underscore its uniqueness: cheaper than coastal rivals, with forests replacing beaches. For transgender people, the lack of urban gaze provides rare freedom; nonbinary travelers appreciate fluid social norms in small-group settings. As climate-conscious queer travel rises, Lost River's low-impact ethos—solar-powered lodgings, zero-waste policies—resonates deeply.

In summary, Lost River embodies a welcoming evolution, where queer history, natural splendor, and community warmth converge. Travelers depart renewed, often pledging return visits to this mountain sanctuary.