Picture this. You wake up in a king-size bed on lush, high thread count sheets and under a blanket that takes you back to winter in kindergarten where you felt cozy and safe. You stretch and wash your face in a pristine porcelain facebowl, and the towel you press to your face is the consistency of the center of a fresh buttery croissant. Then you walk outside, and you're the only one for miles. There are no humans. No neighbors. No profanity-laced arguments from fellow travelers. Only nature and oxygen-enriched air that has undertones of freshly cut pine trees. Because you literally are in the middle of a forest. You look up and you see the Aurora Borealis. As the sun begins to gently caress the horizon, you hear a whisper. Could be a squirrel. Could be a woodpecker. Could be a deer. And as the morning progresses, you're ready to go out adventuring, and everything you want to see is within a traffic-free, 20-minute drive. What I just described, what I just experienced first-hand, was more than just some yurt in the woods. This was a 5-star experience. Opulence, decadence, convenience, coziness, peace, privacy, natural. When I told friends I'd be staying in a yurt for 11 days, they assumed a certain kind of rustic experience. I'd be embarrassed to tell them I lived better than I do in my own home, better towels, better sheets, better bed, even the bathroom is bigger than my own (seriously, you could throw a dinner party in the bathroom it's so spacious). This was a resort.