18 Romantic Getaways for Seriously Outdoorsy Couples

Updated February 3, 2025 01:58PM

Get out the pack, Jack. Make a romantic plan, Fran. No time to be coy, Roy. OK, you get the drift.

With Valentine’s Day on the horizon, maybe you’re looking to impress someone with a night or two that will ignite the fire. We’ve got you covered, with our favorite romantic getaways of all time. These trips are perfect for best buds and to save for future mates, too.

The Outside staff have pretty much ditched the roses-and-chocolate rigamarole in favor of road trips to remote Southwestern desertscapes, ridgetop hikes, and fly-fishing excursions followed by steamy soaks in hot springs. Because, for most of us, nothing cements a relationship like outdoor appreciation. If your partner doesn’t share the awe of a spectacular sunset, the joy of a sweaty mountain-bike ride, or the seduction of fireflies on a porch in Appalachia, we ask: Is that person really for you?

Here are some of the best romantic getaways that have sparked Outside relationships and friendships over the years.

Isle Royale National Park

Price: $7 per person, per day for backcountry permits; one-way ferry and sea plane fares from $90 and $275, respectively

Why We Love It: In 2020, I met the love of my life at the Rock Harbor Trailhead in northeastern Isle Royale, a national-park archipelago in Lake Superior. Due to pandemic restrictions, the isle was accessible only by seaplane, so I hopped on one from Grand Marais, Minnesota, for a solo, seven-day, 75-mile-ish backpacking trip. I had no concrete plans other than to criss-cross the island southwest to Windigo, hitting the bays, ridges, Superior shoreline, and interior lakes along the way.

I had just snagged a permit from the ranger station, strapped my fly rod to my pack, and was about to set off when I noticed a tall, blonde guy stumble out of the bushes. He was dirty, bug-bitten, sunburned, and full of trekking beta. I struck up a conversation: Where had he gone? How about the coolest vistas? Must-stop camp spots? Trails to avoid or take?

We talked for 20 minutes, and parted ways with smiles but no phone numbers—me, to the trail; him, to catch a seaplane out. A month later, he tracked me down on Linked In to see how my trip went. Six months later, we met up for a trail run in Sedona, Arizona. A year later, we got engaged and married. But here’s where it gets good: We returned to Isle Royale for our honeymoon.

From our seaplane drop in Windigo, we backpacked for a week, averaging about 14-16 miles per day, charging through both fresh and familiar territory up toward Rock Harbor. We started with the 30-mile Feldtmann Loop in the southeast, where we encountered bull moose with five-foot racks in marshy spits, fields of purple, yellow, and red wildflowers, and turquoise Superior vistas from the fire tower. Then, we pushed north to Siskiwit Bay, where we hunkered down on the lakeshore with freeze-dried chili mac and cheese, and slept under the stars to a symphony of howling wolves. After, we climbed along the spine of the island via the Greenstone Ridge Trail, stopping at Lake Desor to soak aching feet and rest, before trekking to Todd Harbor Campground in the west for an orange-sherbet sunset. We polished off our trip playing cards and hiding from cheek-reddening wind at Moskey Basin in our tent, before plunging into Superior and cracking cold beers from Rock Harbor’s camp store. It was tough to board our seaplane out, but we’ll be back throughout our lives. I can’t think of a better, more meaningful place to celebrate getting hitched. —Patty Hodapp, Outside senior digital travel editor

Why We Love It: When my wife and I discuss the formative months of our relationship, we inevitably begin to reminisce about a weeklong 2016 meander through southeastern Utah. A maiden road trip is the ultimate relationship test. Can we get along for hours on end in the car? Are our tastes in music compatible? Are we both comfortable with a blank itinerary and no clue where we’re going to eat or sleep each night? Pringles or Doritos? It was on the first day of that trip that we learned the answers: yes, yes, yes, Doritos. We were a perfect match.

If you were to ask us to pinpoint the location where everything fell into place, we’d also provide matching answers: Valley of the Gods, about two and a half hours south of Moab. Tucked between Bears Ears National Monument to the north and Goosenecks State Park to the south, this 152-square-mile plot of BLM-managed land is sometimes referred to as Little Monument Valley. Explore it via its 17-mile dirt access road and you’re quickly surrounded by the same massive sandstone spires you’ve seen in countless westerns and postcards, but with hardly any other visitors competing for the photo ops.

We turned onto that road around 4 P.M., drove six miles in, and turned again onto a short, dead-end spur road, where we pitched our tent just beside a massive wash. Then we cracked open some beers and sat on the back of my car to watch the sunset. There were no other sounds in the universe save for the whoosh of an occasional breeze, and the colors changed every two minutes. Most people probably wouldn’t describe Valley of the Gods’ rugged, barren landscape as romantic. But for a magic half hour each evening, I can’t think of a more romantic place on earth. —Christopher Keyes, Outside Inc. vice president and general manager, Outdoors

Los Poblanos Historic Inn and Organic Farm

Why We Love It: If a 25-acre lavender farm with wandering llamas, artisanal purple gin cocktails, and beautiful gardens and courtyards that the affianced dream of booking for their weddings doesn’t appeal to your romantic sensibilities, this place will change your mind. Los Poblanos is a lovely, quiet getaway from the whirrings of the world. I recommend it frequently to friends or generally anyone traveling through Albuquerque with time to spare.

My husband and I came here to celebrate an anniversary years before the media began bestowing it with awards, but we have returned a handful of times since, to enjoy family celebrations at its farm-to-table restaurant, Campo; sit down to a leisurely brunch (we can’t seem to order anything but the eggs Benedict—those homemade English muffins are worth the hourlong commute); and take part in the convivial special dinners that are quickly booked by local Burqueños and held at one or two very long tables.

Stay a night or two in a North Field room with a fireplace (make this request, as not all have them), but get there early enough to spend time out on the patio, surrounded by the rows of lavender, at their height in June, and watch the shadow of dusk fall slowly over the towering Sandia Mountains. If the weather’s nice, and it tends to be in Albuquerque, borrow a bike and ride along the Rio Grande. Make s’mores at the fire pit. Wake up late and walk the farm’s fields, visit the chickens. Savor the relaxed pastoral atmosphere. Time with your partner in such a setting can’t but work wonders. It has for us. —Tasha Zemke, Outside associate managing editor

Lake Crescent Lodge

Why We Love It: Lake Crescent is my happy place. Its perfectly clear, deep blue waters are ringed by majestic evergreens and framed by rolling mountains. The best spot along its perimeter is the Lake Crescent Lodge, a white, Victorian-style property built in 1916. There’s a beautiful sunroom for grabbing drinks, and a verdant lawn rolls down to the waterfront, where Adirondack chairs are positioned perfectly for sunset viewing. There is also a sit-down restaurant on-site, but national park food always leaves something to be desired, so instead, my husband and I opt to grab takeout from Frugals, a burger drive-through in Port Angeles, and enjoy a picnic by the lake.

For my 25th birthday, we managed to snag a room in Lake Crescent’s historic lodge building. There are newer buildings and cabins on the premises that offer private bathrooms, but the original lodge, with its lace curtains and wood paneling, charmed us. Each year my husband grants me my birthday wish—a canoe paddle on one mountain lake or another. It’s the only day of the year he’ll get in a watercraft with me, due to my hopeless paddling skills. After 20 minutes of me steering us in circles, he patiently does all the work to navigate us around the lake while I take pictures and eat sandwiches. It’s heaven.

That year we grabbed the earliest canoe rental possible–7 A.M.—and took off across Lake Crescent before any motorized boats ventured forth. The water was like glass, and early-morning fog rose from its surface. We peered down at submerged logs and skirted the shoreline to avoid the more than 600-foot icy depths with no sounds other than birdsong. —Mikaela Ruland, National Park Trips associate content director

Ojo Caliente and Taos Spa, Resort and Hot Springs

Why We Love It: Angie knew what was coming when we left Denver for an extended weekend getaway in Taos, New Mexico, a few years ago. We’d been together for three years and had spent the previous eight months discussing our future and The Big Question. It was time. We’d already picked out the engagement ring and planned an itinerary: Dinner at The Love Apple. A hike in the Sangre de Cristos. An afternoon in downtown’s plaza.

But our most anticipated spot was Ojo Caliente, a well-known spa resort west of Taos. We’d visited Ojo Caliente (Spanish for “hot eye”) the year before, and it immediately became our favorite hot springs. Seven outdoor geothermal pools of varying warmth surround a cool soaking pool and mud bath. The smell of burning cedar and mesquite waft through the grounds. Staff ask everyone to keep conversations to a whisper. And the compound is tranquil, tucked in among the piñon and cottonwood trees at the base of a rocky bluff and surrounded by a network of hiking trails.

We kicked off our getaway by spending a day in relative silence, soaking in the hot water, enjoying each other’s company, and unwinding with a massage. We booked a private pool and ate at Ojo’s restaurant that evening. Two days later, we hiked up 13,167-foot Wheeler Peak and exchanged rings at the top, just as we had planned. —Fred Dreier, Outside articles editor

The Grand Traverse

Price: Variable, depending on whether you do it yourself or use a guide company

Why We Love It: When my girlfriend and I started dating, we thought it would be a good idea to try the Grand Traverse, a 14-mile line across ten summits with 24,000 feet of vert. She had lots of experience climbing, but she’d never been on a multi-pitch adventure before, let alone a multiday alpine effort. For some reason, we decided it was a good idea anyway. Over three days in July, with the help of Exum Mountain Guides, we traversed the Teton skyline, moving fast over complicated terrain, camping in a tiny tent on small ledges, and relishing in the splitter weather. It was the kind of trip that either demolishes a relationship or hardens it into something that lasts. We’ve been together for nearly a decade since. —Matt Skenazy, former Outside features editor

Granite Park Chalet

Why We Love It: When my wife and I got married in September of 2000, our grandparents weren’t happy. Not because they didn’t like our choice of partner, but because they couldn’t attend the wedding. The 7.6-mile hike to the remote site we’d chosen to tie the knot—Glacier National Park’s historic Granite Park Chalet—was just too much. But we were enamored with the century-old stone-and-wood structure, located just west of the Continental Divide, atop a hill with sweeping views of Glacier’s peaks and valleys, scenery made even more spectacular by the light show that happens when the sun dips below the jagged horizon.

Our wedding party, just under 30 strong, trekked to the chalet via the Highline Trail, which hugs the famed Garden Wall, a sharp ridge that at the time was laced with glittering streams and sprays of wildflowers. If you find romance sleeping at tree line in an alpine wonderland, miles deep in the wilderness, Granite Park Chalet is your spot. But full disclosure: room service is not one of the perks. You’ll cook meals on the chalet’s propane stove and schlep water from a nearby creek.

Yes, we pressed our wedding guests into pack duty, asking them to help us haul in three days’ worth of drinks and food. My mother-in-law-to-be baked a wedding cake on-site, and the bridesmaid decorated the chalet’s community dining room. But the collaborative spirit only added to the allure of holding our celebration here. How good was the reception? After seeing the pictures, even our grandparents were happy. —Dennis Lewon, Outside Inc. director of content

Shenandoah National Park

Price: Variable, depending on whether you pitch a tent in the park (campsites from $30) or stay at a local Airbnb or hotel

Why We Love It: They say Virginia is for lovers. I haven’t traveled enough around the state to vouch for that, but I’ve spent many weekends at this national park, and I think you could honestly say that the Shenandoahs are for soulmates. Just north of Sperryville, in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, there’s a dirt road that distances you from gas stations and billboards and delivers you to the base of a gorge known as Little Devils Stairs. Each time my then-boyfriend and I set off on the modestly challenging two-mile trail, the hushed vibe instantly reset our moods and our rhythm.

There’s something different about this place, unlike other hikes I’ve known, and how it sequesters you among the crowded trees, obscuring daylight. Away from the tensions of everyday life, it brought on an almost tangible expression of what filmmaker Jason Silva refers to as a “cosmology of two.” We navigated moss-covered rocks and fallen trees, danced in a stream, gawked at what appeared to be bear tracks, geeked out at the geography, and paused solemnly at a cemetery.

We stayed at a rustic (and slightly terrifying) old cabin loaned to us by a friend. It had shoddy cell reception but was comfortingly close to the trail and replete with an outdoor shower, cast-iron cookware, firewood, and our hauled-in provisions. Sitting on the porch at dusk, we joked about DIY glamping while sipping Champagne and watching fireflies the size of lanterns dance with the constellations. My memories have since outlasted that relationship, so “soulmates” may not be entirely accurate. But then, as with pretty much anything in life, it is what you make of it in the moment. —Renee Marie Schettler, Yoga Journal executive editor

Sun Mountain Lodge

Why We Love It: The magnificent views here have been awing guests for decades. Established in 1968 in central Washington’s Methow River Valley, the Sun Mountain Lodge is an aerie atop a foothill boasting immense 360-degree vistas: the mountain terraces and spires of the North Cascades and thousands of acres of Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest. Guest rooms and a dining room are built around those views. I’ve been fortunate to stay here four times, teaching writing classes for the EASE Cancer Foundation and hiking on glacially carved slopes where strong winds cause trees to grow sideways.

I have been here with friends and colleagues, but never a romantic partner: I wish! Instead, each time, I sent my husband and our two sons cascades of photos: Mount Gardner from my room, the horse ranch I can spy from my class, the nearby Lake Patterson, where people fish, and even the stuffed bison in the lobby (his name is Floyd) and the massive musk ox and caribou heads mounted above the fireplace. Every season has its charms: sunflowers and wildflowers in spring and summer, the brilliant red foliage of fall, and, in winter, snow (not to mention the annual Ski to the Sun Marathon and Relay, a 40K race that begins on the valley floor, continues on what’s touted as North America’s largest ski-trail network, and finishes at the lodge).

My husband would love to skate-ski here. We’d both like to tackle some of the daylong rock climbs around Mazama, 23 miles to the northwest. My friend Jill LaRue, a nurse who works the conference, mountain bikes the trails around the lodge. If you hadn’t packed for all of the recreational possibilities, you can square things away at the lodge’s sizable gear-rental shop. This being Washington, it is perhaps unsurprising that the salmon served at the lodge is always great. And if you have time for further exploring, you might try snacks and soup at the Rocking Horse Bakery and Little Dipper Cafe in the quintessential mountain town of Winthrop, ten miles east, or visit the funky cabin-like Mazama Store in Mazama. —Alison Osius, Outside travel editor

The Highlands at Harbor Springs

Why We Love It: I am turning 40 this month, and to celebrate, my husband and I are spending our first weekend away from our three-and-a-half-year-old. We didn’t want to travel too far, and we also wanted something that both felt luxurious and had skiing. That last bit was important—I was born and raised in Sun Valley, Idaho, and having recently relocated to northern Michigan from New Mexico, I thought our skiing options would be fairly limited.

But then I discovered the “Deer Valley of the Midwest,” The Highlands at Harbor Springs (formerly known as Boyne Highlands). Booked! We’re staying in a slopeside Gleneagles Ultra Luxury Suite in the resort’s historic and recently renovated main lodge, and I’m looking forward to the soaking tub, Italian linen sheets, bidet, record player, included breakfast, and ski-valet service. And the highlight: a snowcat-accessed moonlight dinner at the resort’s mountaintop North Peak restaurant the night of my birthday.

It’s not going to be the deepest skiing of my life, or even my season, but I can’t imagine a better way to turn 40 than a fancy, toddler-free ski weekend with my favorite ski partner. —Katie Cruickshank, Outside Inc. director of digital sales strategy

Red Cliffs Lodge

I didn’t actually go on a romantic getaway to Red Cliffs Lodge just outside Moab with my partner. I went on a romantic getaway there with myself. But this lovely lodge—recently acquired by Marriott—has been top of my list for a weekend with my husband soon.

Bonding over new experiences as a couple is awesome, and there are plenty of ways to do that at Red Cliffs. The lodge offers great amenities, and also serves as an adventure concierge. During my stay, I checked out the onsite Moab Museum of Film and Western Heritage and relaxed with a sound bath. The Lodge also arranged a guided canyoneering trip with Desert Highlights, and an Arches stargazing photography tour at 1 a.m.

The lodge itself sits 25 minutes from the Arches entrance, 14 miles up Grandstaff Canyon alongside the Colorado River. And you don’t have to head into the town of Moab to go on a climbing, mountain biking, or hiking date. Climb at nearby Fisher Towers or boulder at Big Bend. Shuttle the Whole Enchilada. Take a hike on Grandstaff Trail. Or go for a scenic drive up into the La Sals.

No phone service, the pastoral setting, and the soothing sound of the Colorado River don’t hurt the romantic vibes either.

If you’re heading to Red Cliffs soon, keep in mind that the property is under renovation until early 2026, so some areas are closed and some offerings/amenities are temporarily on pause. —Maya Silver, Climbing editor in chief

Lake Creek Road Dispersed Camping Area

Why We Love It: A few summers back, my boyfriend and I went on a quest for a weekend retreat in Idaho that led us just beyond Ketchum, to the Lake Creek Road camping area. Nestled along the eponymous creek, it became the perfect haven for a few days of mountain-biking adventures and tranquil post-ride relaxation. The beginner-friendly White Clouds Trail, which guided us to a mesmerizing vista, was practically at our doorstep. The Corral Creek Trail, weaving through sage and aspen, provided a captivating forested singletrack experience, revealing glimpses of the majestic Pioneer Mountains.

Also close by was Frenchman’s Hot Springs, an idyllic setting for rejuvenating soaks, enhanced by the refreshing flow of the nearby Warm Springs Creek. What made the getaway truly special was the sense of being off-grid, with no interruptions from cell-phone service, allowing us to fully immerse ourselves in the weekend. Evenings were spent reconnecting by the campfire under the incredibly bright stars. It was a much needed escape from the ordinary. —Sierra Shafer, Ski editor in chief

The New Mexico–Colorado Borderlands

Price: $500 for a day of guided fishing; rooms at The Springs Resort and Spa starting at $340

Why We Love It: Over Thanksgiving, my boyfriend booked a day of fly-fishing from a drift boat on the San Juan River, a fishery in northern New Mexico that’s well-known for its absolutely massive trout. There are a few area outfitters with similar offerings, like Duranglers and Float ’N Fish. Neither of us had ever fished with a guide, and after countless long days wading upriver and tying rig after rig, it was a treat to have someone else do the dirty work so we could just fish. Then we drove through a blizzard to Pagosa Springs, Colorado, about an hour and a half away from the takeout, to stay at the eponymous hot spring resort, where we soaked late into the night. The next day we caught little trout in the river below the resort and once again soaked until we were prunes. This is a good trip to take in the colder months, when there are smaller crowds on the (very popular) river. And the hot springs are that much sweeter when the weather’s unfriendly. —Abigail Barronian, Outside senior editor

Cape Alava, Olympic Wilderness Coast

Price: $8 per person per night for a backcountry-camping permit; park-entrance fee additional

Why We Love It: The northern stretch of Olympic National Park coastline is pretty much my favorite place on earth, period. It’s the place where I always feel totally present, which is the main reason I’d take a partner there for some quality time. The ocean, the remove from roads and other people, and the terrible cell service make the rest of my life seem very distant, and the world shrinks to the rocky beach, the waves, and my companions. The tide pools full of anemones, starfish, and other sea life in the large intertidal zone at Cape Alava make it my preferred spot, and you can pitch a tent at dozens of campsites strung out along the rocky beaches.

Starting at the Lake Ozette ranger station, it’s a three-ish mile hike through windblown forests and peat bogs on a well-maintained trail to reach the cape. The effort-to-scenic-payoff ratio is unmatched, and the mellow route to campsites on the coast avoids a few backpacking pitfalls that can spoil the romance—no one is going to bonk, it’s easy to loop back to the car for forgotten essentials, and the short distance means you can bring extra goodies like a bottle of wine or a small watermelon.

The downsides include the long drive to get there (five hours from Seattle, longer if you have to wait at the ferry), the hassle of securing a permit on Recreation.gov, and potential storms and high winds once you’ve arrived. Full disclosure: I’ve never taken a partner here, just friends, although one friend I brought along did leave the coast as more than a friend, so make of that what you will. But if I ever wanted to spend a few days with a sweetheart, to simply enjoy the picturesque surroundings and each other’s company, I’d take them to Cape Alava. —Miyo McGinn, Outside assistant editor

AutoCamp Joshua Tree

Why We Love It: Think of romance, and you might think of iconic destinations like Paris or Venice, but I feel most connected to my partner when we visit Joshua Tree. We recently stayed in AutoCamp for an overnight excursion to the high desert, and the amenities and proximity to the national park—a quick six miles—made it one of our loveliest weekends together. The property’s Airstreams have been converted into trendy tiny homes but offer the novelty of vanlife. (And when you’re living out of your van in wintertime, there’s no complimentary hot cocoa and cider bar, as there is here the entire month of December.)

We had a great time in ours: the beds are plush, the bathrooms are large, and there’s heating and A/C. Also, every airstream unit comes with a private outdoor fire pit and dining area with a table and chairs, so you can cozy up next to your beau and toast with s’mores while stargazing up one of the darkest, most decorated skies in the world. Not interested in sleeping in a converted Airstream? Check out its cabins. AutoCamp is so romantic that it literally hosts weddings on-site at its large gathering space. It also hosts loads of activities, day and night, from themed hikes and new-moon soundbaths to concerts and cultural tours. —Emma Veidt, Backpacker associate editor

Garnet Mountain Fire Lookout

Why We Love It: More than 8,000 fire towers perched on high points across the U.S. at their peak in the 1950s, giving lookouts a vantage to spot the telltale curl of a wildfire start before it could spread. Today, only a fraction of those still stand. But at a few of them, backpackers can spend the night, enjoying panoramic views and stellar mountaintop stargazing for themselves.

For the first anniversary of our first date, the woman who is now my wife and I ventured up to one of those—Garnet Mountain Lookout, elevation 8,245 feet—to try and claim some of that magic. From Bozeman, it’s a 26-mile drive to the Garnet Mountain Trailhead and from there it was a 3.5-mile hike to the summit, through a conifer forest and wide-open mountain meadows that still held late-spring snow on their western faces. Before long we’d settled into the fire tower, a squat, two-story building with a woodshed on the bottom and a full wraparound porch surrounding the square living quarters on top. Furnishings were solid but spartan—a small pantry, a propane burner and wood stove, a table, and four bunks, each just big enough for two determined lovebirds to squeeze into. But when that night’s sunset lit the hills, I would have taken it over any palace. —Adam Roy, Backpacker executive editor

International Bonus: Hvammsvik Hot Springs and Northern Lights

Why We Love It: A couple of years ago, to celebrate our first wedding anniversary, my husband and I cruised around southwest Iceland for six days. We love a thermal-springs soak after hard hikes and trail runs, and prefer to dodge crowds and drive less, so this smallish outdoor mecca was a no-brainer addition to the end of a stint in Ireland.

We rented a Dacia Duster 4X4 with a rooftop tent in Reykjavík ($900 for five days, tricked out with sleeping and cooking essentials and a hot spot for GPS, via Rent.is) and headed out with no agenda except to explore the country’s remote terrain rich with waterfalls, lava fields, alpine valleys, and camping spots. A few days in, we decided we needed a geothermal soak. So we headed west along offshoot F-roads (F for fjäll, which means “mountain” in Icelandic) to Hvammsvik Hot Springs on the Snaefellsnes fjord. There, we spent hours hopping from one pool to the next, mowing down salads from its on-site bistro, and sipping champagne from its swim-up bar—glorious rewards after miles on backcountry trails. After we plunged into the Atlantic to scrub our dirt and sweat away, we scored a campspot nearby, made pasta on the stove, and kicked back to watch the most dazzling five-hour northern lights show we’ve ever seen. All told, we’ve been lucky to share lots of romantic moments in stunning places worldwide, but this memory tops our list. —P.H.

International Bonus: Kasbah Tamadot

Why We Love It: As a couple, it can be tempting to take the easy route when traveling overseas, the road more traveled. Relationships are adventurous enough. Why add more blind corners?

Such was the case for my wife and I during a delayed honeymoon to Morocco, two years after we were married. Neither of us had been to the North African country when we decided to spend a week in Marrakech, a well-trodden tourist destination that somehow remains as mystical as it must have been when 16th century sultans ruled it. Today, the medina is full of souks selling Berber rugs, piles of spices, and elaborate kaftans—not to mention a long list of bougie hotels. Basically, you know it’s going to be comfortable, even for my wife, Keren, whose idea of roughing it is an outdoor massage.

Me, I’m a sop for “off-the-beaten path” experiences. I can’t think of anything more boring than an afternoon massage, which is why I insisted on spending at least a few nights in the mountains outside of Marrakech. So I decided unilaterally, because I was in charge of reservations, to book us into Kasbah Tamadot, a private home turned remote retreat overlooking a river valley in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains.

The resort, an hour and a half outside of Marrakech, is centered around a large 1920s riad, a traditional Moroccan house with rooms surrounding a central, tiled courtyard. The grounds of Tamadot include gardens, an oversized pool, fancy Berber tents for glamping, and a little farm with camels, donkeys, and chickens, among other critters. There’s even a Turkish bath and spa. Despite the extensive grounds and long list of upscale amenities, everything about Tamadot feels intimate, like being welcomed into a family home, one with multiple fountains covered in floating flower petals.

Oh, it also happens to be owned by Richard Branson, whose mom fell in love with the riad years ago, so he bought it and transformed it into the oasis it has become. Let’s be clear, this isn’t exactly the road less traveled, despite its surroundings, but Tamadot was my concession to my wife, so I could do all the other things I wanted to do.

The end of the valley, for example, is a popular launch point for trekking in the mountains, including to the summit of Toubkal, the highest peak in North Africa. With Kasbah Tamadot as our base camp, we were easily able to explore the valley’s upper villages, including Imlil, which is often referred to as the Moroccan Chamonix. After a hike on our first full day, we were welcomed into a local’s home that doubled as a makeshift restaurant. We sat next to a low table on elaborately-sewn cushions and were served a traditional vegetable tagine, heated over a wood fire in the backyard. The vegetables—carrots, potatoes, peas, and zucchini—were cooked to perfection, and served with a platter of steaming couscous. Keren, as a vegetarian, had been struggling to find food she liked for days, even in Marrakesh. Here, after a long hike, we finished even the last bite.

The following day, we visited a woman-owned cooperative producing and selling argan-oil products—soaps, moisturizers, and other cosmetics. We bought a bag-full of their wares. In the afternoon, I hiked up a ridgeline while Keren visited the animals at the farm. On our final day, I arranged a motorcycle tour—set up through the tourism company Epic Travel—that would take us through the mountains to the Agafay Desert.

In the U.S., Keren wouldn’t get on a motorcycle if ashes from a volcano were about to rain down on us. “Those things are death traps,” she kept saying in advance of the day. But when our driver, Hussein, pulled up to Tamadot’s front gate on a Chang Jiang 750, a vintage Chinese bike outfitted with a leather-seated sidecar—one that happens to be stylish as hell—the magic of the moment took over. We both saddled up and spent the entire day on the motorcycle, careening down dirt roads, visiting a small village in the desert with an ancient mosque, and walking through a narrow, ancient souk. The vendors and locals stared at us every step of the way, as if we were the first foreigners they’d even seen. We bought candy and shared it with local kids running on the streets.

Halfway through the day, we stopped at the home of a prominent Iman now occupied by his great-grandson. Our host served us wild mint tea and cookies, pouring the kettle from high above his head into small cups held below his waist. It was the traditional pouring style, he explained, a sign of hospitality and respect, because the long pour created foam on top of the tea to catch the dust in the desert air. I’ve never felt a more welcoming gesture.

Back at the resort that evening, the staff of Kasbah Tamadot had left a bottle of Moroccan grenache and glasses on our nightstand, along with rose petals on the bed. The forced romance might have felt mawkish, but after a long day on the bike, we sat silently on the terrace with a glass each, watching the sun disappear.

After two years of marriage, it was clear we had both fallen in love again—with a new country, slightly expanded versions of ourselves. A simple willingness to explore, despite our reservations, brought us together in a way that no ceremony could.