A 20 room Inn in a historic mansion and gardens in downtown Greenwich, CT. Passionate about history, food, gardening, and sustainable communities. And chickens.
Most people plan a weekend out of New York backwards.
They start with a list, cram it into 48 hours, and end up in traffic on the Merritt more tired than when they left.
A short weekend should hold less, not more.
We spent more per square foot on Room 18's small bathroom than we would on a larger room.
Glass shower, pedestal sink, white tile. The space reads airy instead of cramped.
The room didn't get bigger. It just got better at being what it is.
You're staying in a friend's home, not a hotel.
No 24-hour front desk. No spa. No one working at 2am.
Some people need that. We'll point you to it.
The rest of you already know where we are.
Room 18 was a sleeping porch. Before AC, families slept in semi-outdoor rooms to stay cool in summer.
In this house the walls weren't insulated, so it ran hot in summer and cold in winter.
It had a door to the outside. My parents worried. At 6, I used it to go dig for bugs.
Guests sometimes ask if Greenwich is gay-friendly. It is.
Then they ask if there are gay bars. There aren't. It's a town of 60,000.
What we have instead is a handful of good rooms and a mixed crowd you can't predict. I've always liked that part.
It's called Grandiflora. Back country properties you won't see from the road.
Friday soirée. Saturday gardens. Sunday polo.
Full itinerary, map, and tickets: https://t.co/XQZa2XbEY9
Memorial Day weekend shows you Greenwich from the outside.
The first weekend of June shows you what's behind the gates.
Five private gardens. One Saturday. Almost 70 years running.
When you grow up in a B&B, your parents' bedroom is the only private room in the building.
Being called in meant good news or trouble. Usually trouble.
That room is now Room 16. A guest told me it wasn't sleeping well. They were right.
So we fixed it.
The Woodstock Festival didn't happen in Woodstock, NY. It was in Bethel, 60 miles away.
The town is still worth visiting. Tibetan monastery on a mountain. Vintage stores. Surprisingly cosmopolitan food.
Just not for the reasons people think. And Hendrix was never there either.
Provincetown isn't a weekend trip.
Four hours each way from NYC. The town is great. The drive isn't.
Anchor a longer Cape trip around it, or use it as the final stop on a coastal New England route. The kind of place worth reaching the end of the map for.
Old houses make their own renovation schedules.
A pipe froze, thawed, and ruined Room Fourteen's carpet last January. We were already planning to renovate that room.
The pipe didn't know that. Or maybe it did.
The room is better for it. The pipe has been quiet since.