The West African nation of Benin is emerging as a must-visit destination in 2026, offering travelers a mix of rich cultural traditions, vibrant contemporary art, and a growing culinary scene.
According to travelandleisure, Ganvié, which means “we are saved” in the Fon language, was established in 1717 by Beninese who were fleeing slave traders; today, there are 45,000 residents. With my guide Gilbert Djanfan, I canoed along the canals.
Women wearing raffia hats glided past, transporting the day’s catches, while fishermen tossed weighted nets that arced through the air.
We stopped at Chez Raphaël, a B&B with a restaurant serving homestyle meals. At the market next door, I browsed the stands selling wooden sculptures, brass giraffes, and hand-beaded bags before sipping a cold La Béninoise beer and watching lake traffic drift by.
Back home in Paris, I’d often heard of French travelers heading to popular West African destinations like Senegal—Benin, less so. But perhaps that’s on the verge of changing. For centuries, Benin has borne the extraordinary weight of its past—it was a hub in the transatlantic slave trade, and spent nearly a century under French rule before gaining its independence in 1960. (Last year, Benin, joining other nations like Ghana and Guinea-Bissau, passed a law that grants citizenship to those who can trace their lineage to an ancestor who was enslaved.) Today, the country is slowly opening to tourism, with a younger generation that is committed to preserving its cultural heritage, as well as institutions that are championing contemporary art.
The Sofitel Cotonou Marina Hotel & Spa, which opened at the end of 2024, is also evidence of the optimism about the country’s future. Set on the coastline in Cotonou—Benin’s largest city and the main gateway for visitors—the 198-room hotel has several restaurants and an airy spa by KOS Paris. During my visit last May, it was my home base for exploring Cotonou and nearby historic and cultural attractions.
A visit to the town of Ouidah, about an hour west of Cotonou, is an essential part of understanding Benin. Underneath an unrelenting sun, Djanfan and I walked through Place Chacha. In the 18th and 19th centuries, this square was the site of a slave market; today, bronze sculptures depicting scenes of branding and auctioning stand in memory of that brutal past. We continued along a rust-red path toward the Door of No Return, where a memorial arch—etched with sculptural reliefs of men being led, their hands bound—marks the departure point for enslaved Africans sent to the Americas.
Later, we went to Salt Island, where women carry on a long-standing practice of harvesting salt from the lagoon. I tasted the briny crystals on the palm of my hand. This very salt, explained Djanfan, graces the tables of West Africa’s finest restaurants.
Djanfan also took me to the Temple of Pythons, an important 18th-century voodoo site. Benin is the birthplace of voodoo, a religion far more complex than the tired tropes of straw dolls and pins. It’s an oral religion centered on honoring ancestors and spirits, asking for their guidance and help through ceremonies and offerings. As Gabin Djimassé, a historian and director of the Abomey Tourism Office, later explained to me, voodoo, like any faith, has its good and bad sides. At its core, he told me, “Voodoo is a response that we have to the big questions all people pose—to know who we are, and where we come from.”
I explored the grounds and nervously eyed a pile of the slithering pythons that in voodoo symbolize strength, fertility, and protection. Assured that these sacred animals don’t bite, I held my breath as Djanfan placed one around my neck. It simply hung there, warm and weighted, and I let out a sigh of relief.
We ended the day at the Fondation Zinsou, a contemporary art space housed in an Afro-Brazilian villa dating back to 1922. On display was “Promesse,” an exhibition featuring artist Joël Andrianomearisoa’s multimedia installations. Each piece was linked to the surrounding environment: a room overflowing with sun-dried teak leaves from Ouidah; bottles filled with local Sodabi alcohol, a distilled palm wine.
On my final night in Cotonou, I had dinner at L’Ami, an elegant brasserie at the Sofitel. The menu, which reflects Benin’s mix of culinary traditions, was conceived by Georgiana Viou, who was born in the country and is the first Black female chef in France to receive a Michelin star, for her restaurant Rouge, in Nîmes.
My meal began with a leek, fried until light and crispy, followed by risotto with a pesto made from a native basil called tchayo and a red carp stuffed with black olives and served with a carrot purée. Dessert was a perfect bite of dark chocolate dusted with Ouidah salt.
I thought about the crystals I’d held in my hand a few days earlier and was struck by how Benin’s traditions have endured—all the way to the global flavors on my plate.
