In Botswana’s Okavango Delta, there’s a lodge that seems designed to vanish. Not in a dramatic way, but softly—like a structure that was always part of the land. &Beyond Sandibe Okavango Safari Lodge feels like one of them. It sits deep in Botswana’s Okavango Delta, where the forest leans low and the floodwaters arrive months late. Here, seasons don’t shout—they seep. The land breathes on a delayed cycle, and so does the lodge. Even from afar, it felt built not to stand out, but to step back. And maybe that’s why it stayed with me. The lodge rests on a 22,500-hectare private concession that it manages exclusively. No convoys of vehicles. No need to rush toward a sighting. Just space—open, shared, undisturbed. The kind that lets things happen on their own terms: a lion emerging from the grass, a bird lifting soundlessly into the sky. What first drew me in wasn’t the wildlife, but the architecture. The main lodge echoes the form of a resting pangolin—scaled, curved, low to the ...
At first glance, it looked like a rendering: white geometric volumes floating above still water, suspended between shifting light and the endless sea. The caption mentioned that the architect had intended to create a space deliberately detached from reality—a place designed to feel like a dream. That idea stayed with me. What does it mean to build something that feels imagined rather than inhabited? The question lingered, leading me to learn more about this unusual meeting of land and sea. Located at the southern tip of Mexico’s Baja California Peninsula, Los Cabos is a region where arid landscapes and ocean horizons coexist—a tension that defines much of its scenery, even if not every shoreline bears their immediate trace. In San José del Cabo, the quieter of the twin towns that make up Los Cabos, Viceroy Los Cabos reveals itself not so much as a hotel, but as a spatial experience suspended between elements. Designed by Mexican architect Miguel Ángel Aragonés, the resort is arranged a...