Imperfecto fired up an already hot trending restaurant scene in Washington DC. Today, Chef Enrique Limardo has three fabulous DC restaurants to rule over in his crisp, chef’s whites. What makes Imperfecto so darn near perfect? It’s all in the details.
DC is a culinary wasteland.
This was my first thought when we moved to DC from Tokyo in 2010. It isn’t because I’d spent nearly four years in the world’s foodie capital (with 202 Michelin stars, the most of any city, I dare you to disagree). It isn’t because I’d lived in NYC and eaten my way through every ethnic culture known to mankind. And, it isn’t because I’m a food snob.
It’s because at our first DC restaurant experience (and I concede that choosing Japanese was a bad opening move) I saw a line cook squeeze wasabi onto a sliver of ahi tuna from a plastic ketchup container. If you don’t recognize the issue here, please click that little red circle on the top left of your screen.
Maybe I am a food snob.
DC’s culinary landscape has shifted dramatically since then. At one time, Washington DC restaurants were considered stuffy, stale, and lacking in identity. The change over the last decade has been gradual, yet on a clear upward trajectory. Restaurant standouts like Pineapple and Pearls, Rose’s Luxury, and Komi influenced the scene early on. Michelin didn’t even deem DC worthy of its own guide until 2016.
That’s about when DC woke up and started to get cooking.
For us, you could say it was perfect timing. Or, depending upon how you see it—ever so slightly imperfect.
Introducing Imperfecto
Imperfecto isn’t even a speck on the Epicurean map when we unpack our worldly possessions in the nation’s capital. Yet, I’d be surprised if the seeds of Chef Enrique Limardo’s restaurant venture weren’t already planted.
Chef Enrique Limardo made his DC restaurant debut with Seven Reasons in 2019 after being the Executive Chef at the highly-acclaimed Alma Cocina Latina, in Baltimore. Before then, he honed his creative talents in Spain and in Venezuela—his home country. Along the way, Chef Limardo’s intent on globalizing the kitchen gained traction and attention. He lovingly fuses flavors and ingredients from the Mediterranean to the Amazon.
DC’s West End neighborhood is pretty far from the Amazon. So named because it sits at the westernmost end of DC’s original L’Enfant Urban Plan, West End is now a virtual hotbed of luxury hotels and restaurants. This may be due, in part, to the long ago initiative “to bring life to a declining part of the city.” A successful initiative, indeed.
In 2021, DC’s West End became known for Imperfecto. Its Michelin-star rating makes Imperfecto a sparkling addition to its bevy of upscale restaurants.
How can a large open-plan dining space with ultra-high ceilings convey both an air of intimacy and extreme conviviality? It’s a bold design risk—as many restaurants choose to carve up space with cleverly executed drop ceilings, or floating walls, in order to create more privacy. Imperfecto embraces its cavernous space with a zestiness that rivals its shishito purée.
The Athens and Stockholm-based design firm OOAK can take a deep bow. By choosing contrasting elements (think brass and marble combined with wood and terracotta) and Mediterranean-influenced colors, the team at OOAK creates an eye-popping space that somehow doesn’t distract from the reason you’re there in the first place.
Dangling light fixtures and massive asymmetrical beams offset the dining room’s space. Three concrete beams emerge from the floor like colossal stalks of bamboo. The rich, nautical blue-painted ceiling creates a reverse anchor to the room while simultaneously paying homage to the colors of the Mediterranean.
Imperfecto’s risk pays off. Although far from quiet, the layout is thoughtfully imagined. I can easily hear every word my husband says (whether I want to or not). I hear ambient laughter, glasses clinking, and the festive popping of corks—a sublime soundtrack to any fine dining experience.
I look through an enormous glass wall into the lively dining room of Imperfecto. It’s muted from where I stand on the sidewalk outside. I open the door and hear the welcoming buzz and hum of a restaurant at its nightly peak. I’m enchanted.
A one-of-a-kind burl wood check-in stand is both sculptural and functional. From there, we turn right and see two enormous arches with rock-quarry-inspired murals looming above the bar. The underlit array of liquor bottles could be considered an interactive art installation. Art, artsy, and more museum-worthy details abound. Comfy crimson bar stools are ready and waiting.
The bar is well-tended, with servers who love their craft and prove it with every pour. As a graphic designer in my past life, I became obsessed with the genius use of stemware icons on the cocktail list. I love being able to choose my poison based on the glass shape. I’m not alone. The drinks are also works of art, seasonal, and a delight to imbibe.
Driven partly by the beautifully shaped coupe, I choose the Imperfecto Club. Grey Goose vodka with limoncello, a splash of fresh pineapple juice, and vanilla syrup. My husband gets the Double ‘O’ Seven, channeling his inner James Bond. If there’s ever a place in DC to feel like an international man of mystery, Imperfecto is that place.
We give up our cushy barstools somewhat reluctantly—yet eager to continue the Imperfecto experience.
Naming a restaurant Imperfecto is a brilliant way to offset any criticism. Yet, I am hard-pressed to find much to complain about. I visited Imperfecto three times in the past year and two out of those three times the service was superb. The other time was just shy of superb.
We glide to our table. Along the way, we pass a wall of terracotta-designed ‘M’s that discreetly mimic the Imperfecto logo. Yet another well-executed design element in a well-executed space. Further along, an open carving station is displayed like a culinary side show—a clear incentive to order whatever the chef is grilling.
Chef Limardo changes the menu often, making it all too easy to return. We dine on inventive creations like Moussaka Cigars. Light, flaky, phyllo dough filled with smoked eggplant, ground lamb, pine nuts, and creamy goat/manchego cheese. Each ingredient is well-defined yet melds together seamlessly.
Never one to pass up on a subterranean fungus, I opt for the Truffle Tagiolini as my main. Homemade pasta with a sweet corn cream sauce topped with chopped asparagus, Pecorino cheese, and of course, a pile of shaved truffles.
For those who like to be told what to eat, and in what order, the Chef’s Tasting Menu is the way to dine at Imperfecto. Prepare to be dazzled by each artfully plated course, ever-changing platters, and serving pieces. Prepare to test your social media restraint.
DC is no longer a culinary wasteland. Washington DC is riding a rising tide of innovative and creative cuisine. Chef Enrique Limardo has much to do with it. With three restaurants, including the recently opened Joy, by Seven Reasons, there is much for foodies in DC to celebrate.
Thank you, Chef Limardo, for pushing the epicurean boundaries in our ‘stuffy’ city. Thank you for identifying a spot to showcase your talents in ‘a place with no identity.’ I know you’d never squeeze wasabi from a plastic ketchup bottle—as you seem to care as much about the pungent Japanese root as you do an earthy truffle or a crispy plantain.
Your attention to detail at Imperfecto is, well, kind of perfect.
I hope you continue to prove the DC bashers wrong and the Michelin gods right. As long as you keep evolving the menu and using those cute little stemware icons, I won’t stop visiting.
So tell me, Chef, did I get the details correct? If not, please let me know.
Amangiri is one of the most luxurious resorts in the world. Amangiri has won awards for its spectacular pool, its desert location, and over-the-top excursions. Read on for a sneak peek into Utah’s decadent resort, Amangiri.Discover if a vacation in the Utah desert is right for you.
What’s Aman?
Years ago, when we lived in Tokyo, I remember a dinner party where we met a woman named Fang. She’d been an ex-pat in Japan for years. We were fresh off the proverbial boat, trying to make sense of a new and foreign life. After she casually mentioned an upcoming trip to Aman in Indonesia, we innocently asked, “What’s Aman?”. Cue sardonic laughter, followed by a cryptic smile that implied, ‘If you have to ask, maybe you are at the wrong dinner party’. Fast forward a decade. We have since learned about the inherent draw of Aman and Amangiri, a luxurious oasis hidden in the Utah desert.
The Aman group of resorts is scattered across the globe. They define a niche of low-key, high-end luxury, unlike much of what is out there, which tends to be either one or the other. Typically, in far-flung, remote, and unique destinations, they almost always sit discreetly in their environments. For instance, Amansara, in Cambodia, was the former guest villa of the country’s King Sihanouk.
Many Aman hotels don’t have a signed entrance, making them challenging to find. They rarely, if ever, have a lobby, bellboys, or a front desk. Founded by Indonesian native Adrian Zecha in 1988, Aman now has dozens of boutique properties around the world. Each prides itself on intrinsic beauty and stellar, almost invisible service.
Amangiri is hidden in plain sight
Amangiri, one of only three Aman properties in the continental US, is impossible to spot when viewed from above. In fact, it’s also impossible to spot when you are driving. With about 600 acres, it nestles beautifully into the desert landscape. The colors mirror the dusty terrain. Low, flat rooftops quietly conceal the beauty that lies beneath. It’s beautiful from the inside out. Every detail has been thoughtfully decided upon, whether natural or manmade.
Bring the outside in at Amangiri
Our suite was spacious, strikingly monochromatic, and naturally lit by expansive picture windows. Rooms are mountain-facing so that not a single golden drop of sun is missed throughout the day. The contrast of the warm glow that hovered and then completely dropped out of sight was something to look forward to each evening. With a glass of wine, we had front-row seats for every performance.
Rooms and suites are as natural as the outdoors itself. Stone, wood, and clay describe both the mellow color palette as well as the raw materials. The beds float mid-room, facing the windows so that there is no escape from the elements.
The outside patio had a small fire table to take the chill off the slightly cool summer nights while we enjoyed sunset cocktails. Nearby, a straw hat and parasol were on hand to shield the all-day rays, a hand-carved walking stick for hikes, and state-of-the-art binoculars. Amangiri, you thought of everything. Details rule.
The Dining Room and Great Room at Amangiri are open-plan layouts with panoramic windows that essentially double as a permanent and ever-changing art exhibit. As we walked around the common spaces, we took note of local handicrafts, such as geometric-designed hand-woven baskets and pottery.
As ever, coming back to the resort after an invigorating day immersed in nature felt decadent, and our relaxing time ahead felt well-deserved. Four fireplaces with comfortable lounge-like seating were welcoming spots to cozy up with a pre-dinner drink. A floor-to-ceiling walnut wine cellar that would make any wine aficionado swoon was another fun place to explore.
The cuisine at Amangiri, given its geographic location, is influenced by Native Americans. Interesting flavor combinations, such as Shrimp and Mesquite Smoked Grits accompanied by Cholla Cactus Bud, caught my eye. We experimented with new dishes and flavors daily, and the jovial bartender created cocktails to match our choices.
A large telescope beckoned us from the Great Room’s expansive windows so we could get as up close and personal with the terrain as we wanted. I imagined wildlife roaming in the distance, the owls burrowing in the rocks, and the critters scuttling quickly across the desert floor.
The ABCs of Amangiri: Adventures, Buttes, and Champagne
Amangiri’s proximity to Lake Powell and Antelope Canyon is a significant draw, as they are a launch point for so many interesting adventures. One could easily spend a week and not begin to exhaust the excursions available: hiking the red rocks, crossing the challenging Via Ferrata, and climbing into the slot canyons, to name a few. There is also hot air ballooning, kayaking, and horseback riding—a playground for the adventure junkie and photographer alike.
The innate beauty in this part of Utah conjures up the image of peeling back layers from an onion. Beyond the thick outer layers—climbing and hiking—are the super thin ones, like discovering owls nesting in the nook of a rock or noticing the subtle difference in colors of the earth beneath our feet. Those delicate layers, the tiny details, can go on indefinitely here—the corner of the country where Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah intersect.
One afternoon, we boarded a helicopter to see the desert from above and landed atop a nearby butte. Our pilot set up a table and chairs for us to soak up the surroundings over a bottle of chilled champagne. Blue and gold, opposites in the world of color, created a striking scene from our elevated position.
As the sun began to set, we flew over the Glen Canyon Dam and Horseshoe Bend—its iconic shape giving credence to its name. One highlight among many highlights of the trip.
Amangiri and Utah’s Slot Canyons
It is said that Utah has the most slot canyons of anywhere in the world, and the draw of hiking into these colorful, sunlit, narrow gorges was a large part of why Utah became our destination of choice.
Our guide was a young, local Native American man who led us up, over, and around the rock formations and taught us about the layered sedimentary deposits. At various points, we had to scramble on our hands and knees and suck in our bellies to access the famous slots.
To say that the colors and striations of the canyons cannot be captured on film is an understatement. A sliver, a piece, or a glimpse can be caught, but to illustrate it in its entirety was impossible, at least by me.
At certain times of day, the sun dived deep into the slots, saturating them and creating luminescent hues. The rock walls appeared fluid. We crawled through passageways in the formations, watching the colors that ranged from cadmium orange and burnt orange to cayenne red, persimmon, and then a rich, moody purple. Other times, looking through the crevices gave the illusion of an orb of fire rather than permanent rock. The once fiery walls smoldered as the sun shifted, turning smoky and dark.
Amangiri and Lake Powell
A man-made reservoir rather than a lake, Lake Powell added yet a different layer of adventure to our desert holiday. The following morning, we hired a captain and a boat and spent the day wake-surfing, waterskiing, and swimming in Lake Powell’s crips waters. We marveled at the impressive and incredibly steep canyon walls and noted the distinct colored patterns that centuries of ever-changing water levels had etched into the earth.
Craggy and textured mountains surrounded the lake, vibrantly juxtaposed against the cerulean blue sky. Distant buttes dotted the barren landscape; their iconic flat tops cut a unique silhouette. With the water so clear and brilliant, Lake Powell is understandably a favorite destination for houseboats and day trippers. Yet, it didn’t feel busy. In fact, there were moments we were so alone, I felt I had traveled back to prehistoric times.
Amangiri’s 180 million-year-old rock is a showstopper
After a morning of squeezing through canyons and tackling the dry desert heat, it was a gift to return to the resort and know that we didn’t have to leave the property for any reason for the remainder of the day. As Google had promised in my research, the pool setting at Amangiri was said to be nothing short of awesome. I was excited to fact-check.
Hands down, the most defining element of Amangiri is its enormous ancient boulder. It has been said that Mr. Zecha used this rock as the centerpiece of the resort’s design and spent years trying to secure the site, as it was initially nationally owned land. One could argue that it is the oldest piece of original art on the property.
In a feat of design that would make any landscape architect drool, a glorious pool surrounds the boulder. Each platform lounger, with oversized white umbrellas, slices into the pool’s edge, which creates the illusion of personal space. Some days, we felt like we were the only guests there. However, one afternoon, Tom Hanks and his family showed up poolside, and we all did our best to pretend we didn’t recognize him. But even with eyes closed, Tom Hank’s voice is impossible to mistake.
Invisible service at Amangiri
As mentioned earlier, Aman prides itself on nearly invisible service. At Amangiri, they took that sentiment a bit too far, and sometimes, we couldn’t find anyone! This was most apparent at the pool when ordering a drink or a bottle of water and then later at cocktails. (Although, it didn’t seem like the Hanks family had similar issues.) However, when we did find a server, they couldn’t have been more friendly or helpful.
In Aman’s defense, it may be hard, in such a quiet, remote part of Utah, to find the level of service they can more easily find at other properties. Nonetheless, I would head back to Amangiri in a heartbeat and forgo any level of service for the views.
Amangiri means Peaceful Mountain
Amangiri is a feat of form and function. Geometric lines nestle so unobtrusively into the earth—not making much of a ripple from an architectural point of view. There is a reason that Amangiri has been written about endlessly in travel magazines and is often cited as one of the best hotel settings in the country. The pool is considered one of the most beautiful in the world, thanks to Mr. Zecha’s vision.
A few years ago, Aman revealed a sister property to Amangiri called Camp Sarika. It’s a private enclave of ten canvas-topped pavilions, each with a private plunge pool, set within 600 acres of the property. Aman calls it a back-to-the-wild experience. They call it a meditative sanctuary. Whatever they call it, it’s now at the top of my wish list.
In Arabic, Amangiri is defined as ‘Peaceful Mountain’. It’s hard to imagine a more fitting name in this stunning part of the United States. When I think back to that long-ago dinner party in Tokyo, now I’m the one smiling. Wherever you are, Fang, thank you.
Tucked up in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. Blackberry Mountain sets a high bar by combining unique adventures and holistic wellness activities. And, it takes adventures even further with locally sourced food, and the comforts of home. This post describes how Blackberry Mountain entices each of the senses, in completely unexpected ways.
This is Blackberry Mountain
Big Double Shelter is a wide, wooden deck at the end of Big Double Trail. The treetops in the distance look freshly painted. Brushstrokes of oily red, orange, and yellow skim the uppermost leaves.
The result is an undulating wave of late autumn color. Big Double Shelter hovers above pine trees adorned with clusters of prickly pinecones jut precariously over a deep ravine. We are the only hikers out this brisk November morning. The silence is deafening.
THUMP.
“Uh oh,” my friend says, “there goes the walkie-talkie”.
I peer over the edge. But she’s already scrambling down the steep slope to recover it from the forest floor. I think to myself, this is the part of the film when things begin to go horribly wrong.
What’s to fear? It’s not as if there are black bears roaming the Smoky Mountains in late November. Or, that the walkie-talkie is our sole connection to the lodge? Alerting the front desk of our hiking route, as recommended, is no longer unimportant.
We’d brought only a 4 oz bottle of water between us because we want to travel ‘light’. And, perhaps I’m not the confident map reader I pretend to be. Is the sky starting to turn an ominous gray? Is the wind picking up? Why do I feel suddenly parched? Curse you, my overactive imagination.
At Blackberry Mountain, adventure and luxury overlap
If this mini-adventure appears to be threaded with fear, it is fleeting. In this case, the ‘Girls’ Weekend Gone Wrong’ thriller would have to wait, as our hike had an uneventful ending. My friend recovered the slippery walkie-talkie, the skies reverted to cerulean blue, the wind abated, and the water sufficed. The only evidence of bear was an ambiguous claw scrape in the dirt.
Blackberry Mountain, a luxury/adventure lodge in Walland, Tennessee, is as eventful or uneventful as one wants it to be. The property’s sweet spot is best illustrated between the layers. Layers as thick and interesting as the Smoky Mountains themselves.
Blackberry Mountain, in brief
The Beall family started Blackberry Farm as a six-room country inn in the mid-70s. Over the years it has grown and gained worldwide attention in the hospitality sphere. In 2018, the Beall family opened a sister property, Blackberry Mountain. Blackberry Mountain covers eight miles of protected ridge line over 5200 acres. Almost half of which is dedicated to land conservation. Not to overdramatize, but it’s spectacular.
The Watchman Cabins
Ramshackle, Cripple Creek, Crackling Hen, and Old Smoky. Welcome to the watchman cabins. A six-of-a-kind collection that lines the top ridge of the property. Each cabin comes with its own personalized golf cart so getting around the property is never an issue. Our cabin is Ramshackle, set just across from the forest-enclosed, infinity-edged, hot tub. No golf cart is needed.
Outside, the smell of new wood-burning wafts from the neighboring cabins. And the fresh scent of morning dew is ever more noticeable after the night’s heavy downpour.
The cabins are rustic-chic. For instance, Ramshackle has layers of wooden beamed walls, and wide, wood-planked floors. Additionally, there’s a wood-burning stove and a free-standing deep soaking tub to complete the comfy, cozy setting. Endless little luxuries are sprinkled throughout the cabin.
Amenity Overload
As an example, Aesop toiletries sit at the edge of the deep, stand-alone tub. A Nespresso maker and assorted teas are on hand for a morning caffeine fix. And, remote-controlled roller shades reveal the lofty view from floor-to-ceiling windows. Amenities, galore.
Additionally, brass binoculars (for bird or bear viewing) are set atop the iron stove. Also, there is a basket of firewood ready to take the chill from the cool evening air. Thick, wool, blankets drape the chairs, begging to be worn. So, that regardless of the outside temperature, we could still enjoy views from the deck.
The trees in front of Ramshackle’s picture window are stark, having already lost most of their leaves. Spindly branches overlap one another, an inky contrast against the morning’s milky fog.
7am. I’m not a morning person. But, I try to keep my eyes open long enough to witness the mist rise beyond the windows. I want to watch the sun break through to reveal the patches of farmland below. Watercolor hues of overlapping blues shape the mountains. Steel blue, gray-blue, periwinkle, cornflower, and as expected, smoky blue. I don’t even have to leave my bed. If there is ever a place to have cabin fever, this is it.
Naturally, views trump everything at Blackberry Mountain. And none are more intoxicating than from the hilltop Watchman Cabins.
THREE SISTERS, AND A FIRETOWER RULE OVER BLACKBERRY MOUNTAIN
There are two restaurants at Blackberry Mountain: Firetower and Three Sisters. Firetower is aptly named. It sits at the base of a restored 1950s fire tower that guests can climb for sweeping views. The restaurant is an uphill stone’s throw from our cabin and is where we enjoyed many of our best meals. Three Sisters is a slightly more formal dining experience at the main lodge. We divided our meals between both—always in fear of missing out on something the chefs were inventing. Foodie FOMO, it’s real.
In an effort to try every dish on the menus, we shared everything. My friend has been a vegan for 20 years. I decided to become one for three days. I was curious if my tastebuds would forgive me. If I was making too big a culinary sacrifice. My fears were unwarranted.
Breakfasts and dinners are included in the room rate at Blackberry Mountain, which made being experimental easy. The chefs are more than happy to split the meals so that guests can try everything. In one case, we couldn’t decide on which two of the three main courses to share. Our waitress surprised us by bringing all three.
The chefs and waitstaff were as excited and eager for us to sample the entire menu as we were. It is just that type of ‘above and beyond’ service that shows up in every facet of Blackberry Mountain. No ask was too much trouble. Ever.
Executive Orders
The executive chefs, Joel Werner, of Firetower, and Joey Edwards, of Three Sisters, both create extraordinary multi-course and multi-dimensional meals. The dishes have layers of colors and textures—as interesting visually as culinarily.
Fresh, foraged mushrooms sit atop a crusty flatbread with piles of herbs and garlic. A warm grain bowl explodes in flavors as bold as its colors, a brushstroke of cashew butter at its base. At breakfast, sweet potato hash is sprinkled with crispy rice on a thinly-sliced avocado.
Each dish is an unpretentious work of art; confident, simple, and purposeful. I made no sacrifices being a part-time vegan. Although I did allow myself one diversion, as I couldn’t pass up the wagyu beef entree at Three Sisters.
With chefs like this cooking for me each day, I could easily imagine life as a vegan. At least a part-time vegan.
Pretentious Glass, a Blackberry Mountain exclusive
Speaking of unpretentious works of art, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the decanter. In fact, I could write an entire post about the decanter. Matthew Cummings, owner, founder, and glassblower-in-chief of Pretentious Glass spent years cultivating a relationship with Blackberry Mountain. He now creates exclusive pieces of glassware for them. A fine art sculptor turned commercial artist, Cummings’ creations in glass are a modern, festive, take on classic styles.
His decanter is a carnival of glass. Wide and round with long, whimsical ribbons that stretch from bottom to top. It begged us to choose a wine worthy of it. As a side note, I’m angling to buy one. But I’m told they’re not yet for sale. Yet, I will keep inquiring. Matthew, are you listening?
Perhaps, the highlight of the getaway is one that I hadn’t anticipated. I was prepared to love the food, the atmosphere, the lodge, and the lodging. I had seen photos, heard stories from friends, and read about the chefs and food. Blackberry Mountain is not an inexpensive undertaking, so a certain level of expectation was inherent. However, the sound bath experience was unexpectedly transporting.
That blustery morning we meet our master of ceremonies. Chris introduces us to the ritual of sound bathing with his warm, lulling voice. The room has high ceilings and is drenched in champagne light. Chris is surrounded by a multitude of instruments; gongs, rainmakers, and chimes, among them. Next, all six guests form a wide semi-circle on the floor with our yoga mats. Lastly, we drape ourselves in soft blankets and placed lightly-scented lavender cloths over our eyes. This is already amazing.
Gongs, Chimes, and Rain
The senses in my body awaken and are warmed from the inside out. I melt into the sounds. The gongs overlap the chimes. Then, the chimes overlap the rainmaker, which sounds like waves crashing onto a beach. First softly, then gaining power, before receding again. I fall asleep, I think. Then awaken to tuning forks in G major, chants, and a few unnameable sounds. The vibrations of those sounds lift and settle within me as I drift in and out of a dream-like state.
All too soon, Chris asks us to sit up. I reluctantly follow orders. The gauzy roller shades are raised, the curtains are drawn. Had I even noticed them earlier? I find myself facing purple mountains— the start of sunset. The ridge is razor sharp, and pink and orange hues are just beginning to appear behind it. I smile. Then wonder when I can do it all over again.
Time’s Up
We attempted a leisurely pace throughout our three days at Blackberry Mountain. We were aiming to find the right balance of chill time and activities. There is much we left undone, which is all the fuel I needed to plan a future trip.
On our final afternoon, a layer of dark clouds descends over the tree line. As if to remind us that it’s time to go. The wind whips in gusts and rattles the stark branches. Not surprisingly, it is still incredibly scenic. But, our time is up.
Blackberry Mountain alighted my senses. It reminded me to admire beauty in the ordinary. Like trees, birdsong, and morning mist. Yet, it had the understated comforts of home but felt extraordinarily luxurious.
It is a hideaway that sparks creativity, calm, and restorativeness. And, it is just what I needed at this moment in my life. To feel snug and secure somewhere outside of my own home.
Whatever it is—the food, the cabins, the hospitality, the treatments, or the adventurous hikes. It is an escape from the familiar. And, who doesn’t sometimes need just that?
Inness is the latest property to take on the Catskills, in New York State. With its low-key escapist vibe and majestic mountain scenery, Inness delivers a weekend getaway for those lucky enough to live within driving distance. Think a cabin-laden, nature-centric resort in the Catskills can’t deliver? Inness will prove you wrong.
“Give me a 5-hour radius, Daniel?” I plead. My husband hates to drive. The last time we took a road trip, a four-hour drive turned into eight, due to an overturned tractor trailer and an ill-timed oil spill. Let’s just say that closed the books on road trips for good.
With airplanes being public enemy #1 of travel these days, I thought I could re-open the case. Newspaper headlines cry, “Unfriendly Skies”, “Airmageddon”, and “The Summer of Lost Luggage”. Every day I’d email Daniel an article reinforcing my point. I’m nothing if not persistent. Although Daniel would likely use a different adjective.
I send more self-serving sound bytes, but he’s unresponsive. If I’m making any headway, it’s impossible to tell.
As a last resort, I offer this: “We can listen to 80s on 8 the whole way.” A statement, while brilliant, I regret the moment it’s leaving my mouth. I detect a glint of possibility in his eyes.
Inness, here we come.
You’re going to the Catskills?
Friends ask, ‘Ummm, are the Catskills still a thing? Were they ever?’. Yes, we are going to the Catskills. The Catskills of Dirty Dancing lore. That place your grandparents used to go. ‘The Catskills are cool again.’, I reply. I hope I’m right. If they aren’t, I’ve given up road trip rights forever.
I’m sensing you don’t believe me. I can see your mouse hovering over that red dot to close this tab. Give a travel blogger, I mean, a travel writer a chance.
We fly past local farm stands and ramshackle barns that look one gust of wind away from absolute destruction. No traffic, no detours, or oil spills. Waze rules—we arrive at Inness at four hours and fifty-eight minutes.
We park. In the distance, enormous willows weep in pairs and in clusters. Queen Anne’s Lace delicately weaves around tall grasses. Cattails emerge with telltale cigar-shaped tips, adding texture to the overgrown landscape. Their pollen has already disintegrated into wispy pieces of cottony fluff that float dreamily through the air.
Thank you, Inness. This is just the welcome I’m hoping for. First, I dutifully thank the traffic gods. Next, I unsuccessfully try to get the refrain from ‘Karma Chameleon’ out of my head. We head towards check-in.
American painter George Inness came of age during the Hudson River School era. He is referred to as ‘The father of American landscape painting.’ It took me all of 60 seconds to see why the farmhouse and cabin-laden property of Inness is named for him.
A master of light and tone, George Inness couldn’t have chosen a better place to paint than this pastoral part of New York State. The landscape is the main event at Inness. Its location between the Catskill and Shawangunk mountain ranges provides both wide-angle vistas and macroscopic wildlife. I’m smitten. I think George would be, too.
Inness, the property
Inness is comprised of 28 cabins and 12 farmhouse rooms set over 220 bucolic acres. Each cabin is created to maximize the view. I had a hard time deciding where to spend my viewing time. On our private deck? On the hill by the fire pit overlooking the valley? Or, from the adults-only circle pool. In the end, I rotate between all three. I’m an equal opportunity view seeker.
Inness is all about the outdoors. Yet, the indoors have been curated and designed with ‘modern-farmhouse-chic’ in mind. A combination of sparse Scandinavian living with layers of luxury like Frette sheets and robes. Aesop toiletries and locally-sourced snacks are within arm’s reach. The cabins feel effortlessly designed, with vintage furniture and found objects, tea kettles, and minimalistic earth-toned pottery.
The Farmhouse has lovely common and outdoor spaces. A pool table, ping pong table, and corn hole are ready and waiting for a match. An honor bar opens in the afternoon, and we take full advantage of its proximity to the pool.
Fit For a King
Our King Cabin interior is a lesson in geometry. Two pentagons are divided by a square archway. A lone bulb encased by hand-blown glass dangles above a minimal wooden table in the center of the room.
Sheaths of linen are draped against the windows and match the warm dove-gray color of the walls. The Frette bed linens also match the walls, so the entire room feels bathed in shades of gray.
The bed is so underdone it appears naked. No decorative pillows, no patterns, or embellishments. It’s a perfect metaphor for Inness. Underdone, but luxurious.
Our cabin’s exterior is a lesson in simplicity. Rich, graphite-colored siding, iron-framed windows, and doors pop up between the wild green grasses. The cabins pay homage to the Catskill resorts of old, but with a casual and modern twist. They run serpentine along a dirt road that leads from the Farmhouse at one end to the restaurant barn at the other.
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Peas in a pod, and other delights at Inness
One of the reasons I choose Inness is its closeness to the mountains. I love hiking with Daniel. Nothing makes him happier than tackling a mountain with a view. Nothing makes me happier than eating a great meal after tackling a mountain with a view. We are two peas in the same pod.
In addition to DJ’ing five hours’ worth of Tear For Fears, A-Ha, and other dreadful 80s bands, it’s Daniel’s job to choose our hikes. It’s my job to choose our restaurants. Two peas.
Inness’ restaurant encompasses the same simplicity found elsewhere on the property. The large open dining barn has a convivial bar and two outdoor dining areas. Why anyone would choose to sit anywhere but the balcony overlooking the fields and mountains is a mystery I will never solve.
Creatures of Habit
In fact, we eat every meal at the same balcony table and never get bored—either of the menu or the views. Each night the balcony serves us much more than lovely meals.
Storms with dramatic purple clouds roll through while we share a plateful of thinly-sliced tuna carpaccio. Bolts of lightning strike during our shared course of homemade pasta. By the time our mains are served, the sky has cleared and golden light touches the fields below.
On Mondays and Tuesdays, Inness serves wood-fired pizzas and pasta dishes only. For the remainder of the week, the menu is more extensive. It includes local finds like steelhead trout with butter beans and salsa verde and an oven-roasted pork chop with charred rapini and hot honey mustard.
We did attempt to have a dinner off-property. Perhaps find a local farm with a restaurant? But we are creatures of habit, as my friends and family can attest. Leaving the ever-changing skies and sunset from the balcony never materialized. Shocker.
The Catskills Overdeliver
Daniel expects to be underwhelmed by the hiking trails in the Catskills. He’s what you’d call a hiking snob. To be fair, we’ve done some challenging hikes in the past few years. The Tetons, Chamonix, and Helvellyn, as examples. How can the Catskills compare?
I love when Daniel’s expectations are exceeded.
The downside of having no say in our hikes is that I never know what I’m getting into. Traditionally, Daniel and I fight while we hike. We fight because he gets us lost. He won’t admit that, of course. But it’s written right here on the internet so it’s 100% true.
The upside of our fighting is that it scares the bears.
Lakes and Loops
Daniel tells me we are hiking Millbrook Mountain to Gertrude’s Nose. It’s a 7-mile loop hike, rather than an in-and-out one. I’m thrilled. I don’t like in-and-out hikes. I spend the whole ‘in’ wondering when we are getting to the ‘out’. It spoils the experience.
The hike, which begins at the base of Lake Minnewaska, starts out friendly enough. Aside from the sign at the trailhead warning us that we are entering a rattlesnake habitat and to take heed. At least that takes my mind off the bears.
The hike has a soft-padded start, with fallen pine needles paving our way. Inevitably, the work begins, and the terrain gets steep. But thankfully the trail rewards us with views that are worth the struggle. And Daniel’s constant amazement at the hike’s beauty makes me feel like saying ‘I told you so.’
For the sake of marriage preservation, I refrain. Plus, he hasn’t gotten us lost yet.
On Gertrude’s Nose
Who is this Gertrude and why is her nose so climb-worthy? In a nutshell, Dutch settler Gertrude Bruyn set up her house on the range opposite this geological marvel—a cliff escarpment that projects out over the Palmaghatt Ravine ‘like a nose’. I wonder if she’s disappointed by the body part chosen for this honor.
The cliffs, crevices, and joint cracks that lead to the nose offer spectacular eastern and southern views of the Hudson Valley. It also offers a sheer drop to imminent death. If selfies are your thing, think twice. Your Instagram feed isn’t worth it. As silver linings go, maybe you’ll meet Gertrude in your next life.
Daniel tells me our next hike is called Lemon Squeeze. Cute, I think. How hard can that be? He mentions it’s another 7-mile loop, but not to worry because it’s mostly downhill. Why I don’t calculate what that says about the uphill part still boggles my mind.
One mile straight up a mountain is what I fail to compute. It’s a doozy of a climb, and I never use the word doozy. We crawl under, over, and around rocks that weigh several tons and balance precariously upon one another. A maze of boulders and tight squeezes dot the route.
Every time I think we have come upon Lemon Squeeze, an even squeezier spot appears. Finally, the real squeeze is obvious, as only children aged ten and younger or supermodels can get through without losing layers of skin.
The Real Lemon Squeeze
After climbing a slippery ladder within an ultra-narrow crevice, I pop out onto a rock ledge overlooking a cerulean blue lake and matching skies. I kiss the rocks under my hands and feet and thank the Almighty this is not an in-and-out trail. The views of Mohonk Lake, creepy Mohonk Mountain House, and the Catskill range are worth every layer of skin I lose that day.
Later, a friend texts me she hiked Lemon Squeeze too—when she was ten. I’m ever-humbled.
The best reward for a morning of hiking is threefold: food, wine, and a pool. Inness has all three waiting for us each day. We dive deep into relaxation like the seasoned professionals we are.
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Inness is for the dogs, and other well-behaved guests
If you live in NYC, Boston, or Philly, I envy your proximity to Inness. As is noted by the license plates which fill the parking lot, the property clearly pulls from the northeast. A mini-escape from the summer heat and city life, Inness is a quick 90-minute drive from Brooklyn. I would have definitely had control of Sirius XM if our drive was that short.
As an added bonus, Inness welcomes dogs (for a fee). The website states it accepts up to two, crated, well-socialized, and well-trained dogs per reservation. This rules out our labs for one reason for sure. That Frette duvet cover would never have survived Indy and Shaka.
However, we meet many adorable canines while at Inness. Most are better behaved than the guests.
Pool, Golf, and other obstacles at Inness
We aren’t golfers. At least not yet. I’ll go out on a limb and say I’ll never golf. But then my dad will inevitably comment, ‘Never say never! You now eat fish!’ and I’ll never hear the end of it.
I overhear a woman at the pool describing the course as having a good aura. That sounds a bit woo-woo, but what do I know about the past lives of golf courses? Built by King Collins Golf, the course has nine holes designed for ‘repeat play to fully appreciate the countless shot-making possibilities.” Their words, not mine.
Two pools book-end the property. The rectangular, kid-friendly pool and the circular adults-only one. I imagine the architects discussing how to keep shrieking children as far away from the grown-ups as possible. The ones who have just dumped, I mean, dropped off their kids at summer camp. Well-played, team Inness.
Inness takes advantage of that fantastic, new middle-aged activity—the obstacle course. Part Tough Mudder, part elementary school playground, the course is a nice alternative to the classic hotel gym, of which there is one on-site, as well.
Checking Out at Inness
Three nights at Inness is the right amount of time to escape the city heat and enjoy the beautiful surroundings. A leisurely balcony breakfast allows us to savor the valley and mountain views one last time before we pile into the car.
The check-in/check-out greenhouse of Inness doubles as a museum-like boutique and overpriced farm stand. We have our boxed leftovers from last night’s dinner for a road trip picnic. ‘This couldn’t happen on an airplane, Daniel.’ I don’t say.
We jump in the car and I quickly change the station to ’90s on 9’. I glance back at Inness. I miss the balcony.
George Inness died in 1894. According to his son, he was viewing the sunset, when he threw up his hands into the air and exclaimed, “My God! Oh, how beautiful!” Then he fell to the ground and died.
The Claremont Hotel and Acadia National Park are a Maine tour de force. The recently redesigned Claremont Hotel has upped the ante on guest experiences in an unparalleled setting. So, if a glass of wine on a wraparound porch facing sunset-tinged mountains excites you, look no further than The Claremont Hotel. And, if hiking mountains to 360-degree panoramic vistas excites you, look no further than Acadia National Park. Read on to discover why The Claremont Hotel, just outside Acadia National Park, is a waterside gem.
Acadia National Park is a national treasure. After decades of overlooking beauty in my own backyard, I discover our national parks. Is it weird that my discovery overlaps Obama’s Netflix series, Our Great National Parks? Or can we all agree that he and I are kindred spirits? “Yes, we can!”
In the summer of 2020, when our overseas travel plans were so rudely interrupted, we decided to visit Utah’s Canyonlands and Arches National Parks. These desert parks were so deserted that I had no one to ask, ‘Where are you from?’. Or, ‘What brings you here?’. Questions all but guaranteed to embarrass my kids and husband.
Arches and Canyonlands encouraged us to fall back in love—with the USA.
So when a friend asked if I could join her on a girl’s trip, complete with a stay at The Claremont Hotel, including daily adventures to Bar Harbor, Mount Desert Island, and Acadia National Park, I didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes! Yes, I can!”
The Claremont Hotel + Acadia = Adventure + Luxury
Finding the optimal balance between adventure and luxury on a holiday is personal math. Some seek a 75/25 or 60/40 balance between the two. I strive for 50/50. Hmmm, does that sound like I’m satisfied with 50% of each? I’d like 100% each. So, I’m striving for a 100/100 balance. Is that even a thing? I hate math. You get the point.
The Claremont Hotel on Mount Desert Island is the consummate compliment to an adventure in Maine’s Acadia National Park. My sought-after 100/100. Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for finding this waterside escape on the edge of Somes Sound. What I can do is pass it along with reasons why it makes a heavenly home base for an Acadia National Park trip.
For me, passing on nuggets of inspiration so that others may enjoy it is what travel is all about. That’s certainly why this website exists. It’s no fun being the only one to know about a sensational travel destination like Acadia National Park or a hot place like the Claremont Hotel. Well, sometimes it’s fun. As long as I get there first.
The Claremont Hotel, first impressions
Our car weaves up and around rolling hills and through scenic towns like Bar Harbor. I see Mount Desert Island in the distance. I see handcrafted signs that cheer, ‘Welcome To Maine! The Way Life Should Be!’ I’ll be the judge of that, I think cynically.
When we pull into The Claremont Hotel’s long driveway I can’t help but take a moment’s pause. A soft landing for my eyes and ears. In front of me stands a grand, lily-white, three-story home set against a cornflower blue sky. I hear the lulling melody of seagulls overhead.
Fuchsia geraniums and forest green ivy cascade over window boxes. A carpet of short, manicured grass lead my gaze toward the mirror-calm sound. Mountains rise majestically in the distance. I pause a little longer, resisting the urge to snap, tag, and post.
I feel like I’m home. I’ve yet to step onto the full wraparound porch or into the Claremont Hotel itself. I’ve been here less than five minutes and I’m already disappointed I’ll eventually have to leave. I know a treasure when I see one.
The Claremont Hotel, The Captain’s Choice
The Claremont Hotel is a historic and impeccably maintained six-acre property on Southwest Harbor, near Acadia National Park. It was built as a summer destination for wealthy families to escape the oppressive summer heat of the northeast. Its location near Bar Harbor was hand-picked by a retired sea captain named Jesse Pease. Capt. Jesse knew a treasure when he saw one, too.
Built in 1883, the Claremont Hotel was family-run until 1908 when it was sold to a local doctor. In 2020, it was bought by hospitality guru and real estate developer, Tim Harrington. Mr. Harrington is also the man behind other magnificent Maine properties like Hidden Pond and Tides Beach Club.
Upon entering the hotel, I first notice a tall, white ceramic dog sitting regally on a window ledge. Instead of facing inwards toward the room, this stoic Doberman is facing out, admiring the lavish grounds, just like me.
The next thing I notice isn’t visible. It’s sandalwood—the Claremont Hotel’s signature scent. Signature scents are all the rage these days. I saunter past the Doberman, knowing full well I’m being lured into the gift shop against my will. Now, every time I enter my living room in DC I’m reminded that I’m no longer at the beautiful Claremont Hotel. Pavlov’s theory was no joke.
The Claremont Hotel’s main house has common spaces that ignite my love of interior design and all things pretty. To say I swoon is an understatement. Patterns I’d expect to clash, instead harmonize. Palettes that I’ve always disliked, I suddenly love. Sister Parish paper wraps the walls. It’s textile nirvana—as if the DC Design Center exploded and thousands of colorful fabric samples were forced to find new soul mates.
Each piece of furniture feels collected rather than bought. Every coffee table book appears well-read and well-loved. The room has an ever-burning fireplace and a games table where I spy guests actually gaming. And I don’t mean Xbox. It’s so accommodating and peaceful, that I’m tempted to sink into a chair and stay there indefinitely.
But I don’t. There’s so much to explore both indoors and out at The Claremont Hotel. I only have three days. Time is of the essence.
The Claremont Hotel: A room, cottage, or house, with a view
I’d normally gravitate towards a cottage or house when at a property like the Claremont Hotel. But I wouldn’t have traded my intimate and bright guest room in the main house of this gorgeous Acadia hotel for any other that week. This being a girls’ trip, I have a room to myself—a rare event, indeed. I don’t take it for granted.
The main house has three and a half floors and 24 guest rooms. The rooms facing the front of the Claremont Hotel have the before-mentioned window boxes. The rooms facing Somes sound receive the morning sun. Beds have piles of cushy pillows propped up against William Morris fabric-covered headboards. Fabric-covered headboards are propped up against patterned-covered walls. Patterns rule at The Claremont. I’m tempted to stay in my room all day to admire them.
But I don’t. Acadia National Park is calling. And my friend is antsy to get going. She’s a very fast walker. The last time we hiked together was in Uganda tracking the Silverback Gorillas. I’m hoping she slows her pace this time. These views don’t weigh 600 lbs and move.
Acadia calls
Lest I forget the reason for our trip—three days of taxing trails, peaks, and panoramas in Acadia National Park. At nearly 50,000 acres, the park includes natural coastlines with rocky headlands, exposed granite rock faces, and U-shaped valleys. It has biodiverse wetlands, stone beaches, and pine forests. Pretty impressive stats, Acadia. I’m putting on my hiking boots now. Be patient!
Acadia National Park is home to Cadillac Mountain, the tallest mountain on America’s eastern seaboard. Tack on 158 miles of hiking trails, 27 miles of motorized roads, and 45 miles of pedestrian-only carriage roads, and I easily calculate, (even with my miserable math skills), that I don’t have enough time here.
Built between 1913 and 1940, the historic carriage road network was a gift from philanthropist and oil tycoon John D. Rockefeller. Sixteen low-arched granite bridges connect the pebble-lined paths. Mr. Rockefeller, an avid horseman, was adamant the park be non-motorized. I hope his horses appreciated the gesture.
Off-Season Rules
We visit Maine in mid-May, which is considered off-season. My friend warns us that Mother Nature isn’t always kind to Maine in May and tells us to prepare for cold and rain. Ever the rule follower, I do just that, despite the weather forecast that continues to predict sunnier and warmer climes than the destination I’m coming from.
Over the next three days, I’m ridiculed for my over-preparedness. Go ahead and laugh. Had we gotten lost, I would have been the only one with a baggie of trail mix and a Stroopwafel.
This brings me to our Acadia park hikes. As advertised, the 3.3-mile Ladder Trail Loop that leads to the summit of Dorr Mountain includes a series of ladders to help scale the rock faces. I liken the Ladder Trail to an open-air StairMaster.
Any part of the trail that is not a ladder is a steep granite step. I curse the person who made these steps. I curse the person who invented ladders. My quads curse me. But then we get to the summit and all is forgiven.
The following morning, we tackle St. Saveur and Acadia Mountains. A 3.9-mile loop with two glorious mountain peaks. The trail meanders around lichen and moss-covered boulders. Gnarled, ancient tree trunks appear rooted in the rocks themselves.
The pines have clusters of lavender buds against green needles. Wild purple Rhodora emerges en masse and frames the distant views. Little kelly green ferns unfurl. Later, I recognize these very colors sewn into the fabrics at The Claremont. Mother Nature’s palette never disappoints.
The trail takes us above the conifer tree line for a rewarding water-filled view. More than once we get turned around and retrace our steps to find the trail markers. No one mentions my stash of Stroopwafels, but I know they are jealous.
Stop and smell the blueberries
Maine may be known for blueberries, but in mid-May, we are out of luck. I’m willing to sacrifice the plump blueberries to the bears in order to have the trails to ourselves.
Acadia National Park, however, thrives in ways well beyond flowering and fruiting shrubs. Evergreen pitch pines and colorful native woodland flora abound. At the water’s edge, I peer into mini eco-systems living within the tidal pools. While we don’t see much wildlife, I’m told there are otters, deer, red foxes, and of course, bears, if you look hard enough.
The Claremont Hotel: Porchin’
We survive the hike, the ladders, the granite StairMaster, and the bears. Time to bask in our accomplishments. Back at the Claremont Hotel, a hot shower beckons, followed by a front-row seat on an evergreen rattan porch rocker with a glass of wine. The rest of my day will be rosé-tinted and food-centric.
The porch. It’s undoubtedly the best outdoor spot at The Claremont Hotel. In the foreground, there is a welcoming heated pool, with pink and white striped umbrellas that summon up scenes from Dirty Dancing. (Ugh. I forgot to avoid all cultural references that reveal my age.)
The pool is surrounded by an intricate pattern of lattice-cut grass. At the Claremont Hotel, even the lawn has patterns. In the distance, there are mountains to daydream about climbing. On the porch, there are green blankets in a basket to take the edge off the crisp air. I savor the soothing built-in beauty of the hotel while reflecting on our day. I reflect on Patrick Swayze. My 100/100 balance of luxury and adventure is realized.
Meet Harry and Fern
I’d be remiss if I didn’t introduce Harry and Fern. Two ways to enjoy dining and drinking at the Claremont Hotel. What a coincidence that these happen to be my two favorite post-hike activities.
The Claremont Hotel’s main restaurant, Little Fern, isn’t little, but somehow still feels cozy. Kudos to the interior design team for the homey touches. Built-in bookcases, a fireplace, soft banquettes, an entire wall of windows, and a large bar that has us making friends at first sip.
I order a cocktail that matches the ever-present hot pink geraniums. I’m nothing if not matchy-matchy. Ask anyone. Even my dogs match.
The food is good, although the portions are too large, even for hungry post-hikers like us. My risotto entrée could have fed the city of Milan. By the next night, we decide to share, which is more fun anyway. Perfetto!
The Claremont Hotels’ clubby, chummy Harry’s Bar is the kind of place to snuggle into with a tumbler of bourbon at an antique chessboard. I don’t drink bourbon or play chess, but Harry’s Bar makes me feel like I should. I imagine Harry’s is best visited on nights when the porch is too cold, but that said, I’d be hard-pressed to pass up having a drink there despite the weather.
Swarthy sea captains peer down on us from oil paintings above. I hope Cpt. Jesse doesn’t mind the bar is named after some yahoo named Harry.
A fine balance
I do the math again and get the same outcome. The combo of The Claremont Hotel and a visit to Acadia National Park strikes an ideal balance between luxury and adventure. You need not be an artist, designer, or photographer to appreciate the natural beauty of both. The colors rooted in Acadia and Mount Desert Island are mirrored at the Claremont—gem tones like emeralds, sapphires, and pink tourmaline abound.
A national treasure is defined as ‘something that is greatly valued by the people of a country.’ With its all-encompassing natural beauty, Acadia National Park certainly fits the definition. Combine Acadia National Park with a stay at the Claremont Hotel and they become a treasured pair. “Maine! The way life should be!” Can we agree on that, Barack?
There are countless ways to spend a weekend in and around Joshua Tree National Park. Bike, hike, climb, stargaze. Take a sound bath, watch the sunrise, and spot a shooting star. Rent a vintage Airstream or a modern Airbnb. How you spend a weekend in Joshua Tree is personal, and sometimes spiritual. Need some inspiration to plan a weekend in Joshua Tree? You’re in the right place.
Desert sky Dream beneath the desert sky The rivers run, but soon run dry We need new dreams tonight
—In God’s Country, U2
The Joshua Tree, circa 1987
I storm out of the house. A flimsy metal headband secures foam-covered earbuds to my head. Tangled cords attach my head to a fiery yellow Sony Walkman Sport. The color is appropriate, as it matches my blazing teenage angst.
It’s March of 1987 and U2 has just released The Joshua Tree. Without exaggeration, it’s a defining moment in my ego-centric, music-driven teenage life. The album, their 5th, may have catapulted U2 to superstardom, but I’m already in deep. I know every song lyric from War, Boy, Under a Blood Red Sky, and The Unforgettable Fire, by heart.
I’m 17 years old. Ecstatic and furious at the same time. Two sides of the same record.
I haven’t a clue what a Joshua tree is, or where it’s found. Only now, decades later, do I find myself in God’s Country, the very part of the world that inspired these eleven unforgettable songs.
Joshua Tree, A brief history
Joshua Tree National Park is in southeast California, about 50 minutes from Palm Springs, but easily accessed by car from Los Angeles, Las Vegas, or San Diego. It outsizes the state of Rhode Island ever-so-slightly at 795,156 acres.
It’s named after the signature Joshua trees (Yucca brevifolia) that are native to the Mojave Desert. Joshua trees are succulents closely related to the agave plant. If your mind shoots straight to tequila then you and my husband are kindred spirits.
I learn from Wikipedia, that the Joshua tree is a symbol of faith and hope in the midst of aridity. Early Mormon settlers named them after the prophet Joshua, as the branches reminded them of him raising his arms in prayer.
To me, the shape of the Joshua tree looks like my son when I accuse him of devouring the last two pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. His arms rise up defensively in disbelief while I point out empty cartons of Americone Dream and The Tonight Dough in the garbage bin.
A pile of rocks and a sea of stars
Among the two best reasons to spend a weekend in Joshua Tree are the rocks and the stars. Some of the park’s oldest rocks are 1.7 billion years old and owe their shape to groundwater that has eroded their hard edges. 1.7 billion years is hard to comprehend, and I imagine this ancient timeline contributes to the spirituality of the area.
Golden boulders look like overlapping mounds of soft, drippy sand kids create on the beach. I climb a pile of these massive rocks. In every direction, I see specks of human life. Some are sitting, eyes wide open, absorbing the vortices of the desert. Others are meditating, eyes closed in contemplation. The serenity of the park is palpable. No wonder it attracts 3 million visitors a year.
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A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Stargazing
Joshua Tree National Park is a stargazing utopia. It’s certified by International Dark Sky Parks as one of the best natural ‘dark sky’ places in the world. The IDSP has been ‘protecting the night from light pollution since 1988’. That’s just one year after The Joshua Tree was released. I wonder if Bono knows about this?
With astrotourism (yes, astrological tourism is a thing) on the rise, the eastern side of the park provides some of the darkest skies in the area. If you want to get closer to the universe, this is the place to do it.
Our Airbnb is located about 15 minutes from the park’s west entrance. The sky at night looks infinite in its lunar starkness. We spend hours flat on our backs to take it in.
I try not to blink. The sky is awash in stars brighter than I’ve ever seen. The Milky Way is showing off. More than once a meteor silently screams across the sky, with a long tail of energy trailing behind. Those who see it shout in delight while the ones who don’t pout and say we’ve made it up. This nightly activity is a highlight of my weekend in Joshua Tree. I’d declare myself starry-eyed if it weren’t such an awful pun.
A Weekend in Joshua Tree: The Park
Joshua Tree is easy to tackle in one day, or in our case, just a few hours. Perhaps lounging around the Airbnb all morning with a cappuccino is not the optimal way to plan a national park day. By the time we finally head out we realize our lunch will be so ill-timed it threatens to spill into dinner. Some of us, me, are already hangry.
Since we blow through the park at breakneck speed, I’ll identify must-see places for future reference. I don’t recall which landmarks we visit that day as I’m so ravenous I can’t see straight. Thankfully the park itself is so tranquil and peaceful, that I’m able to put my hunger aside to enjoy it.
A few highlights follow, in semi-logical order. Don’t blame me if you get lost, I’m not a travel advisor for good reason.
A few highlights
The route starting from the south entrance towards the west entrance could look like this:
Cholla Cactus Garden: A great place to begin, especially for sunrise junkies. The masses of soft and fluffy-looking cacti species are sweetly called Teddybear Cholla, but I wouldn’t attempt to cuddle one.
Arch Rock: At 30 feet across, this natural arch at Joshua Tree doesn’t rival its counterparts at Arches National Park, but it’s still worth a look. Joshua Tree allows visitors to climb the boulders making the park feel like a prehistoric playground.
Skull Rock: A rock shaped like, you guessed it, a skull. Kind of underwhelming. Possibly due to the throng of visitors or the straight-up fact that I’m still really hungry. Skull Rock is located just off the side of the road so it’s easy to do a fly-by if the crowds are overwhelming.
Keys View: For sunset chasers, head to Keys View to catch the late afternoon sun that enhances the colors of the landscape. Rivers of the past are now a dusty mocha brown, and snake between the arid valleys. All in all, it’s nothing short of spectacular.
Author’s Note: In case you’re curious about our lunch crisis (and something tells me you’ve quickly forgotten it) I’ll fill you in. We pull up to Pappy & Harriet’s jam-packed parking lot at 230pm and are told there’s a 45-minute wait. Ugh. Next time, I’m packing a picnic.
A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Beyond the rocks
Joshua Tree National Park’s surrounding areas have much to offer beyond the park itself. Three of the main nearby towns are Joshua Tree, Yucca Valley, and Twentynine Palms. Each lies within a short drive to one of the park’s three entrances (north, south, or west). Each has its own homestead desert vibe, quirky attractions, and accommodation options.
Rock Shops and Crystals
I don’t plan to visit Joshua Tree to get in touch with my spiritual side, but it’s hard to avoid. The area is oozing with opportunities to experience spirituality. Yoga retreats, sound baths, and ancient vortices are just a few ways to recharge and relax.
The Joshua Tree Rock Shop sells gems and crystals that each have their own characteristics and healing properties. Collect a piece of Amber so you can carry around your very own piece of the sun. Or, Angelite to communicate with Spirit Guides. I buy Amethyst for my daughter, to counter negative energy. And Rose Quartz for myself to cope with negative daughters.
Our trip revolves around a friend’s birthday. We are a group of six, three couples, who have known each other for over 15 years. Between us, we fall into the wide array of types that are drawn to this far-flung part of the country—artists, musicians, writers, and yogis, among us. Joshua Tree is a retreat with wide appeal. It’s hard to imagine anyone not finding comfort and peace here.
Wine and Rocks
With organic wines, craft beers, gems, crystals, stones, and good vibes, the Wine and Rock Shop is as eclectic as they come. Walk in and stock up on Tutu’s Tortilla Chips and a bottle of Gearhead Crazy Sexy Cool wine for a post-hike snack. Leave with a Blue Agate Plate to improve concentration. Wait, what did I come in for again? Go ahead and get distracted. It’s all good here.
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A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Getting Spiritual
The Integraton looks like a 50-year-old sci-fi movie set. Located in Landers, CA, about 20 miles north of the park, and built in 1954, this geodesic structure is a well-known sound bath and a historically recognized place for rejuvenation.
While it’s said to be created according to the design direction of extraterrestrials, the Integraton is worth a visit whether you believe in life beyond our planet or not. I’m pretty open-minded, but can’t quite wrap my head around aliens as art director. If nothing else, its Instagram-ability is reason enough to go.
The Integraton is built on a powerful intersection of geomagnetic forces which is thought to amplify the earth’s magnetic field. The 60-minute sound bath experience promotes sonic healing and total relaxation. As you might imagine, it’s highly popular and needs to be booked well in advance.
Is it all bit woo-woo? Yes! But that’s part of why I’m here. I want to get out of my light-polluted city and into a different mental state. I’d like to explore the desert in all of its glory. If that happens to include lying down under a blanket with 40 strangers in a sci-fi movie-esque, alien-engineered, geo-dome that’s miles from civilization, sign me up.
The experience is, umm, different. I wish I could say I felt the powerful forces of the earth’s magnetism beneath me. I wish I felt electrically charged and noticeably changed afterward. Perhaps I’m not evolved enough. Wearing a face mask didn’t help my breathing technique and someone next to me was snoring. I won’t name names. Enrico.
Jokes aside, it’s an intriguing experience I’d like to do again (sans facemasks) someday. The dome is so ET-friendly that I’m afraid it might get sucked up into space before I get a chance to revisit it.
A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Where to stay
Airbnbs are prevalent in Joshua Tree. So much so that the New York Times recently wrote an article begging the question “Is 1,818 Airbnbs Too Many in Joshua Tree?” Our Airbnb, Tierra Del Sol, is so remote we get lost driving the dirt roads back to it at night. To think there are 1,817 others nearby is mind-boggling.
Yet, there’s little doubt the modern desert aesthetic has been rebranded in Joshua Tree, partially due to Instagram and a boom of COVID-induced domestic travel. The ‘Joshua Tree look’ is pretty hard to dislike, especially for those of us on the east coast who don’t live near nude-shaded landscapes with dried botanical gardens and cowhide rugs.
The ‘Joshua Tree look’ can be summed up as boho, high-desert swank sprinkled with bleached-out antlers, hand-woven baskets, rattan poofs, and cowboy hot tubs. That summation is a bit wordy but necessary for accuracy.
Fireplace mantles are oh-so-perfectly staged with stone buddhas, cacti, crystals, and local pottery. Tack on Wolf ranges and Miele built-in coffee machines and you’d think Design Within Reach changed its creative model to Eat-Pray-Love-homestead chic.
Some Airbnbs accessorize their properties with pétanque courts, stand-alone lounges, and windswept, curtain-lined, wedding chapels.
Others boast low eco-footprint, energy-efficient, zero waste accommodations alongside giant gas-lit fire pits.
Others are practically invisible.
PC: The Invisible House
The Invisible House
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the overwhelming, overpublicized, and overpriced Invisible House.
Mirroring nature—and I mean literally mirroring nature, this $4050/night property is set on 90-desert acres. It has, among other amenities, its own 4,000 ft. mountain and 100 ft. indoor pool. It’s a visual feast for those who don’t mind the mountainous price tag.
PC: The Invisible House
The 5500 sq. ft. 22-story horizontal structure sleeps only six, but if you have more guests, fear not. They can stay in the 720 sq. ft. pre-fab ‘escape pod’ somewhere else on the property. Just don’t expect them to still be your friends afterward.
Don’t want to shell out $4050 a night for a weekend at Joshua Tree’s Invisible House? No worries, it can be all yours for the bargain price of $1,750 an hour. Instagram it and get out.
Desert Vintage circa 1975
Airstreams in Joshua Tree are all the rage, not to mention a way to get up close and personal with the desert. The features that accompany some of these vintage trailers are as unusual as the surroundings themselves.
PC: Airbnb
Some Airstreams have swinging queen sized-beds for stargazing. Others have metal barrel hot tubs, outdoor living spaces, and raised wooden decks adorned with twinkling fairy lights. Really? Who needs the fairy lights when you have the starry skies above?
A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Where to eat
The beauty of an Airbnb stay is the ability to cook your own meals. It’s simultaneously a downfall for those who go on vacation to not cook. As always, balance wins. We decide to eat a few lunches out but have breakfasts and dinners in. This turns out to be a hidden blessing as there’s no way we’d be able to find the house at night anyway. This is an International Dark Sky Zone, mind you.
One night a local chef creates a feast for the birthday girl’s dinner, while other nights we grill, sit by the fire pit, and stargaze with a bottle of wine.
For those seeking ultra-fine dining, the desert is not the place for you. Most restaurants are casual and informal.
Worth a mention
La Copine: This 42-seat highway-side, uber-casual eatery attracts foodies for miles. And for good reason. Said to have the best fried chicken in the desert (am I the only one wondering where the chickens live in the desert?) the menu tackles items like artichoke toast, Spanish crispy rice, and duck confit among other culinary delights. Eclectic indeed, and highly sought after.
Pappy & Harriett’s: Go early or don’t go, in my humble opinion. But if you’re as hungry as I am when you arrive, everything will taste as if it’s prepared by a Michelin-starred chef.
A convivial hangout if there ever was one, Pappy’s is the place to listen to live music, dance, and throw back a pint of beer along with some baby back ribs. If you have to wait for a table—AND YOU WILL—you can pass the time in Pioneertown, conveniently located a short walk behind the restaurant.
Pioneertown is as cheesy as it sounds. Built as an old western movie set in the 40s, it has all of the expected kitsch from the General Store, Red Dog Saloon, and fancy soap goats. Ok, maybe that part is not expected. What’s a soap goat? Maybe you can find out. You’ll have lots of time to kill.
The Natural Sisters Cafe:The website reads “Food made with kindness, focus and love.” Who can argue with that philosophy? Known for vegetarian and plant-based wraps, sandwiches, and smoothies, this local eatery caters to the breakfast and lunch crowd. Located close to the Joshua Tree entrance, it’s an especially good spot to hit before you head into the park.
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Outside it’s America
On the last morning of our short weekend in Joshua Tree, I wake up before sunrise. On purpose. This is unusual for me. I value sleep more than just about anything, except perhaps wine and coffee.
I sneak outside just as the first rays are rising over the distant mountains, some of which are still snow-capped in March. The mountain range silhouette is razor-sharp on this unusually cold morning. I race back inside to grab a blanket (in shades of desert neutrals, naturally) wooly hat, and fuzzy birks. Desert cold is no joke.
It’s worth the early hour and cold feet. The scene illustrates why an Irish band would pay homage to the open spaces of America. I summon up the theatrical and melodic notes of Where The Streets Have No Name—the first song on the album. I stand still.
It’s written in the Stars
As I write, the haunting harmony of The Joshua Tree envelops me—this time tangle-free on my wireless AirPods and iPhone 13. The music is as ethereal and transporting as it was then. But now I listen to it through the framework of Joshua Tree—the place.
What connected me to the music back then is realized decades later on the deck of this gorgeous desert house. The soundtrack of my teenage life comes back with a roar. Milky blue desert skies and cracked riverbeds are lyrical elements of U2’s best-selling album. They define the music and this vast landscape, but also a state of mind. I vow to see the park again one day to spend more time absorbing it.
When I do, I’ll make sure I eat first.
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The green o is Montana’s answer to the latest travel trend: luxury-minded adventure escapes. A place that strikes the right balance of indulgence and adventure, and includes culinary experiences and tasting menus worth traveling for. Follow me to the green o, and read about the newest adults-only luxury retreat in the Montana wilderness.
“Are you sure the Sunset Trail goes through this field?” I ask my husband, warily.
“Trust me”, he replies, unhinging the creaky, metal gate, and ignoring the wooden sign marked: “DO NOT ENTER.” I bite my tongue, then follow.
We’ve been at the green o, Montana’s newest luxury adventure property, for all of two hours. My ‘adventure mindset’ is not yet fully formed. But here I am mountain biking toward a herd of hairy bison. Blind faith semi-firmly placed in my husband’s overly confident orienteering abilities.
Does anyone see the bright red flags waving in the distance? Unfortunately, I don’t.
Survival Skills at the green o, Montana
Daniel speeds past the bison with the grace of Chris Froome in the early stages of the Tour de France. I bumble along, struggling to find my balance. My shoes are too tight and my seat is too high. I can’t quite figure out the gears. I’m already parched.
I stop to take a photo—a thin disguise to catch my breath.
The bison look at me. One snorts loudly, breaking the silence of the pasture. Others chime in. Their collective snorting sounds threatening. They shake their massive wooly heads in utter disbelief, unleashing a flurry of flies.
“City folk”, they must be musing in their pea-sized brains, “Should we give them a free pass just this once?”
I feel judged. And rightly so. Daniel is miles ahead. I’m within 10 feet of these massive beasts and suddenly feel like a mid-morning snack. Daniel contends bison eat grass, not humans. But don’t grizzlies eat fish? Daniel has no comment, naturally.
Take deep breaths, I tell myself. Then channel my inner Soul Cycle warrior and power past them.
Spoiler alert, I survive.
The green o: Fields of Gold and Silver Linings
If the pasture where the Sunset Trail may or may not have cut through was any less captivating, I would have put down my size six sneaker in toddler-like defiance. But I see butter-yellow grasses glow against distant mountains. The bison, while terrifying, dot the field in wispy, chocolate-brown brush strokes.
The scene has all the makings of the 20th-century realist paintings I studied in Art History. A canvas imbued with the mysteriousness of Americana. Fields of gold and weathered farmhouses. An extraordinary sight for my city-centric eyes, and one of many Wyeth-inspired moments I discover at the green o.
So yes, I live to tell the tale. In the way of silver linings, I have more than a few bison portraits to show for it. And no permanent scars. Risk, meet reward.
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Welcome to The Green O
The green o (intentionally lowercase to exude an approachable, casual vibe) is an adults-only property located in the Blackfoot River Valley, in Greenough, Montana. It has 12-stand alone accommodations, each called a ‘haus’. If you are any good at math, you will quickly calculate that the green o has a max capacity of 24 guests.
Each haus accommodation at the green o is made from stunning combinations of wood, glass, and other stylized design elements. The hauses are scattered so haphazardly throughout the pine-laden property that they may well have sprung up from the earth itself. The green o refers to the hauses as romantic ‘glamping’ accommodations. But with eco-kitchens, outdoor hot tubs, and wood-burning fireplaces, they go well beyond any glamorous camping I’ve experienced.
The green o vs Paws Up
Hundreds of pines stand at attention in this small gated enclave on the southern edge of Paws Up near the scenic Blackfoot River. Paws Up Ranch is the sister property of the green o—a family-friendly resort established in 1915 by Paul Greenough. His property encompasses a whopping 37,000 acres of land. Well played, Paul.
Back in the early 1900s, Mr. Greenough, for whom the town and ranch are named, painted his flock of sheep with a large green “O”. A simple mark that was certainly ahead of its time from a corporate branding perspective. Does Oprah know about this? Hence the name of this Montana woodland escape—the green o. A tribute to the founder, rancher, and all-around man about town. Literally.
The relationship between the family-friendly Paws Up and the adults-only green o is decidedly one-sided. Guests of the green o are welcome to use any facilities at Paws Up. But guests of Paws Up are unable to access the restaurant’s tasting menu and common spaces of the green o. This lop-sided relationship adds an air of exclusivity for the 24 oh-so-lucky green o guests.
Finding Gold at the green o
While green is undoubtedly the signature color of the property, I can say without fear of my kids’ ridicule, that I found gold. Well, perhaps some fear. That does sound kind of corny.
I’ll attempt to exhaust the limits of the metaphor. Yellow tamaracks burst brightly from a forest of otherwise green firs, creating a ripple of gold. They shed their short needles so that the paths around the property appear to be paved in gold. A large, gooey golden honeycomb sits atop the bar in the main restaurant ready to be drizzled on my morning granola. Metaphor officially exhausted.
Earning Dinner at the green o
Luxury adventure retreats are popping up around the country at lightning speed. The appeal is clear. Travelers are looking for places that provide interesting combinations of active excursions, indulgence, and unique culinary experiences.
Hotel trends show heightened popularity in places where guests feel they have ‘earned’ that Michelin-worthy meal, multi-course tasting menu, and one-of-a-kind styled lodgings. Or, maybe that’s just me?
‘Earned’ could mean climbing a mountain. Or, taking on the green o’s mile-long Grizzlyman Trail. In our case, earned means outrunning simple-minded wild beasts. It’s a reward to mark a day we pushed beyond our comfort zones.
The green o takes it further by adding on unusual experiences, like an ATV ride to a remote ghost town or fly fishing in the Blackfoot River. A day-long Frontiersman Ride on horseback or participating in an authentic cattle drive. It’s all too easy to see the allure of adventure-inspired trips. Especially ones in remote wilderness locales like Montana.
At the Green O, It’s all about meus you
My husband and I come to the green o to create adventures based on our vacation style. Our trip doesn’t look like anyone else’s. I mean that literally and factually. Since our return, I’ve been stalking the green o and its guest posts on Instagram. Not one reel, story, or little square tile replicates our trip. Yet, they all look equally spectacular.
This is the beauty of the green o—that we can interpret the activities and offerings to reflect our own personal brand of adventure. Like on our first bike ride when Daniel chose to interpret the ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign differently than me. Needless to say, we decide upon a few other activities with slimmer chances of being trampled to death.
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Choose our own adventure
Montana is a new state for both of us. We’d like to get up close and personal with the natural beauty for which it’s so well known. We opt for a six-mile hike through the ominously named Lubrecht Experimental Forest, which we access from a path behind our Tree Haus. I dismiss the irrational fear of being abducted and experimented on by a mad scientist named Lubrecht.
But trails named Grizzlyman, Hunter’s Point, and Anaconda are surely trying to shake my confidence level, which is medium at best. Dictated in part by past hiking adventures gone awry (Exhibit A: Wyoming) and (Exhibit B: England).
Thankfully mountain lions hadn’t been spotted recently around the green o. We are told that the bears are probably hibernating by now. That’s mildly reassuring, I think.
On another day we take a 12-mile bike ride through everchanging scenic terrain. Over burbling streams, and through grassy pastures with snow-covered mountains in the distance. We head up to a rocky lookout and admire the Blackfoot River below. It’s one of my favorite ways to spend a day.
I get to burn hundreds of calories in order to ‘earn’ the Wagyu smash burger waiting for me at the Social Haus. All the while admiring stellar views.
The Green Haus
Our haus, in the middle of the trees
The green o has four different haus accommodation types: the Round Haus, the Tree Haus, the Light Haus, and the Green Haus. All are within striking distance of the Social Haus—the green o’s main (and only) restaurant, which has a different tasting menu each evening.
The Tree Haus
I have my heart firmly set on the Tree Haus. The idea of sleeping among the stars in the wilderness must have awakened some part of my inner child. (My parents are surely wondering whose inner child I am referring to.) I hated camping as a kid and still do.
Maybe I was just waiting for the right kind of Tree Haus? Sleeping 23 feet in the air and seeing the stars blinking brightly between the tall pine silhouettes is ethereal. Even if it is from the second floor of our glass-enclosed heated Tree Haus.
The Round Haus
And, even if the bedsheets are so insanely cushy and cozy that we buy them the moment we arrive home. And that we can order on-demand wood-fired pizzas to that very same bed. This is my kind of camping.
Views Win at the green o
The design of our Tree Haus is inspired. A small glass entryway pops from the ground like a submarine’s periscope and invites us to shed our boots and coats. A floating spiral staircase snakes upwards toward the first-floor landing.
The drama is worth the climb—360-degree views of pine forests from floor-to-ceiling windows.
I stop to take in the space and first notice the modern wood-burning stove neatly tucked in the corner. There is an oversized chair beside it, and I make a mental note to curl up in it with my new Amor Towles novel as soon as possible.
In the freezer, I discover two homemade ice cream sandwiches just waiting for the midnight munchies to surface.
Pine-filled views trump all, which is likely why the green o gave us so many places to admire them. A hanging outdoor chair sways in the breeze on the wraparound outdoor deck. The bedroom balcony is the ideal spot to spy deer traversing the landscape. Even the view from the bathtub windows maximizes the woodland panorama.
The only other place for guests to mingle indoors at the green o is the Social Haus. That is perfectly fine with me, as the only thing that will get me to leave a fabulous room is a fabulous meal.
Getting Social
I’m not a ‘save the best for last’ type of person. I like the best first. So why am I writing about our culinary experience at the green o last?
The answer is simple but wordy.
If the green o had no hikes, no bikes, and no ATVs. No Tree Hauses, Round Hauses, or Green Hauses. If the woodlands were devoid of mountain lions, deer, and hibernating bears. If there were no golden tamaracks, golden pastures, or golden paths of golden needles. I would still go to the green o—for the food.
The Social Haus
I am a self-appointed foodie and travel for food the way others travel for a Broadway show or a music festival. I expect the food at the green o to be spectacular. Incredibly, I get much more than I expect.
Every meal at the green o is included in the price of the room. Craft cocktails and (most) wines are included as well. The culinary talents of Chef Brandon Cunningham are almost impossible for me to describe. But I will try.
3 dinners x 7 courses = 21 courses
The highlight of each evening, without a doubt, is the inventive 7-course tasting menu prepared by Chef Brandon and his faithful team. Seven unique courses each night for our three nights without a single course overlapping. Factor in that every other guest will also not overlap a course during their stay and you can see why this is a Mensa puzzle I’ll never solve.
The Social Haus has a convivial bar where guests can have dinner while watching the chef and his team create culinary magic. I order the Greenough Gimlet, with local Spotted Bear Gin, yuzu, and rosemary.
Daniel has Sudden Smoke, which requires the bartender to light a piece of wood on fire then place the glass upside down to absorb the smoke. It is just this kind of attention to alcoholic detail that makes the cocktail experience another green o adventure.
A dark green leather banquette semi-circles around a large glass-enclosed fire. Daniel and I sit facing it, as do all the guests, which creates an informal dinner party ambiance. Conversation flows, as do healthy pours of wine.
Seeing is believing, at the green o
The execution of Chef Brandon’s culinary creations is better seen than told. And better eaten than seen. One artfully designed course follows another. Like his version of Chinese take-out, complete with the ubiquitous cardboard box and chopsticks. Or, a modernized ham and cheese sandwich.
Meals are prepared with absolute intention and often with the help of tweezers. No detail is overlooked, whether that be the leanest slice of hamachi, the flourish of a matsutake mushroom, or a flowering spiral of avocado upon sourdough toast.
Each night I swear I couldn’t possibly handle another seven courses. But I do. I only wish I could stay longer. If for no other reason than to see if Chef Brandon ever slips up and serves the same course twice.
Lunches and breakfasts are as inventive and mouth-watering. Fried chicken and waffles with golden raisin chutney and coconut syrup; chamomile yogurt panna cotta with fresh berries, honeycomb, and pistachio; and the famous Wagyu smash burger. With its secret sauce, griddled onions, and pepper jack cheese, Daniel says it is the best burger he’s had. Ever.
Add in service with a Midas touch (notice how I continue to flog the metaphor?) and it’s obvious why the food experience at the green o is another star among stars.
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Your green o
What will your green o experience look like? Will you opt for a spa treatment or a leisurely hike? An ATV ride or a horseback ride? Mountain biking or fly fishing? Perhaps a long hot bath followed by a fire and a good book? The combinations are as high-adrenaline or as low-key as you’d like.
It’s worth mentioning a few other perks included in the room rate, which may seem high—until you have your first tasting menu Then you will realize that you are winning, as every single meal is included and is better than the last. Guests are welcome to dine at the restaurant at Paws Up, which I’m sure is lovely, but don’t. There is no reason to leave the Social Haus. Trust me.
The green o includes transportation to and from the airport in a hybrid Lexus. That same Lexus (or one from the on-site fleet) is at our disposal should we want to go off-property. Lastly, we are given a $500 voucher that we can use towards anything not included in the room rate. We used ours for a special bottle from the reserve wine list and a massage.
Gold abounds at the green o, no matter where you look, and no matter what season. I found gold everywhere, but none more noticeably than in the service, the food, and the bucolic setting. The only thing missing from our trip to the green o was more time.
It’s a sign
On our last afternoon, we drive along the road where we started our first bike ride. Just past the spot where the Sunset Trail may or may not have been. About 50 yards away we see a different sign, this one is a tad more informative: ‘DO NOT ENTER ENCLOSURE. THESE ANIMALS ARE DANGEROUS’.
The best things to do in Nashville—the ultimate fun-filled destination for a girls’ trip. Hip hotels, uber-cool neighborhoods, and fabulous food. Bingo y’all!
The Best things to do in Nashville
“Hey y’aaaall”.
I’ve spent most of my life in the Northeast. Hearing so many chirpy ‘y’all’s’ in Nashville feels like I’ve dropped into a 1990s Reese Witherspoon film. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of Reese and her films. But it was interesting how one word could carry such, well, enthusiasm.
Fast forward a few hours. I hear conversations over cocktails with locals and old-timers humming tunes in the streets. I tilt my ears toward honky tonk bars. And hear guitar chords trickle from the open doors. I hear the soft hush at Husk and the intoxicating cheers of fans after a Titans win. Sounds like these would become the soundtrack of our trip.
In just a few short days in Nashville, I learned to listen in a way I hadn’t before.
Welcome to big/small city life in Nashville
Nashville is big—bigger than I anticipated. A network of neighborhoods covering about 530 square miles and a population of almost 700,000. The Ubers, however, are inexpensive and plentiful, so we crisscross the city with ease. In hindsight, a map would have been a good idea, as crisscrossing wasn’t the best use of our short 72 hours in Nashville.
We start at the famous wall mural ‘What Lifts You,’ and then on to the colorful Hatch Print Show. Later, we visit the Country Music Hall of Fame, the Gulch, 12 South, Germantown, and back. We find out that every Uber driver has a story to tell in Nashville.
The Best Things to Do in Nashville: Biscuit Love Breakfast
The first food stop on what becomes a weekend of non-stop eating is Biscuit Love. Located in the trendy Gulch neighborhood, it’s a true stand-out in a city that knows biscuits. We wait in a fast-moving line, where a perky hostess hands out menus before we reach the door.
In no time, we have a plate heaped with biscuit French toast, topped with blueberry compote, lemon mascarpone, and house syrup. It’s lovingly called ‘The Lily’, and it is a bold start to our southern culinary adventure. It‘s crystal clear that any more than 72 hours in Nashville will be a real issue for my thighs.
The Best Things to Do in Nashville: Head To Nash-Vegas
Nashville appeals to the artist, the musician, the storyteller, the sports fanatic, and the foodie alike. I wasn’t raised on country music, but I’ve had an appreciation for the genre ever since Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” was released in 2005.
Broadway‘s neon lights flash and beckon us inside the endless array of bars. We hear traditional country, modern country, and cheesy cover bands. We catch a burlesque show in Printer’s Alley, as well as an intimate performance of new and talented musicians at The Listening Room.
At each turn, we glimpse folks (see how easily I slot into Nashville, y’all?) of all ages, and in all phases of sobriety. It’s a party on every corner in Nash-Vegas. Each venue competes for our attention, but in an oh-so-polite southern way.
The best things to do in Nashville: Go bar-hoppin’
Located on Lower Broadway, Robert’s Western World boasts live music seven days a week and is popular with tourists and locals. It’s the week before Christmas, and a country rendition of Feliz Navidad gets the crowd on their feet. It seems the whole of Nashville is here, shoulder to shoulder, singing along.
I love watching older couples dance. Their bodies fit together as they’ve likely done for decades. I meet men who can identify the brand of whiskey from the sound of the bartender’s pour. Boys twirl their partners around with ease, all the while holding a beer cozy as tightly as a running back with a football.
The best things to do in Nashville: The Listening Room
We reserve tickets for a performance at The Listening Room—a small venue in downtown ‘SoBro’. That evening, a trio of talent takes the stage. Trannie Anderson, Lena Stone, and Jake Duke take turns on the mic, each one playing up the other’s talent, or taking a self-deprecating tone when one outperforms the other. Young artists on the rise, each hoping to catch a break or end up on Sirius XM’s The Highway Channel. We leave awed and impressed.
It’s a glimpse into the world of country music. Songs about love, heartbreak, and beer; repeat. The show is made more festive by a nearby table of Santas. Santas in cowboy hats; Santas in cowboy boots; Santas with bourbon. The exclamation point on a memorable pre-holiday night.
The best things to do in Nashville: Stay in The Gulch
We opt to spend the weekend at the Thompson Hotel in the Gulch neighborhood. Trendy shops, high-end restaurants, and central access to the city’s main sights make it an easy choice.
The rooms are modern rustic chic. Oversized and unusually tall pine headboards, soft Sferra linens, mixed textures and textiles, and distinctive lighting create a cozy southern feel. The Muzen wireless speaker is a fitting musical touch for Nashville.
Opting for a suite with a connecting room, we have plenty of space to lounge and relax between our daytime and nighttime events. The large living space features floor-to-ceiling windows, comfy couches, a stocked Nespresso bar, and a wide selection of teas and snacks.
The lobby was equally cool, with lounge-y living spaces that echo the rooms. A wooden, geometric library is filled with design and music books, as well as a turntable with shelves of vinyl records. Textural, local artwork adorns the walls, and the attached Killebrew Coffee bar makes it a true hangout, whether you are a guest of the hotel or not.
The best things to do in Nashville: Hattie B’s Hot Chicken
Food is an inherent draw to Nashville, and we take full advantage of experimenting with southern cuisine. After an hour or so wait in the rain at Hattie B’s Hot Chicken, I secretly wonder if it would be worth it (it is, phew!).
We try everything from ‘mild’ to ’damn hot’, scorching our taste buds for the love of hot chicken—a cuisine I didn’t even know existed until earlier that day. We are told the rain kept many at bay, and that an hour’s wait is considered a gift by Hattie B’s standards.
The best things to do in Nashville: Feast
We tried every southern specialty we could find. Fried chicken biscuits at Milk & Honey, hearth cornbread at Husk, lamb loin with ginger grits at Etch, and stracciatella with turnip and black truffle at Rolf & Daughters.
Etch’s Deb Paquette earned her spot as the first woman to qualify as an executive chef in the state of Tennessee. Her open kitchen contributes to the convivial vibe, and a low buzz makes the atmosphere warm and inviting. We order as many dishes as we can and opt to share everything to avoid any chance of food envy.
Before dinner, we cozy up to the small, pretty bar, have a cocktail, and let the locals tell us where to go. It’s there that we learn about Robert’s Western World, the burlesque show in Printer’s Alley, and the famous karaoke van, which, alas, will have to wait for another day.
Nashville’s Husk
Husk is the culinary highlight of our weekend. I‘d been to the sister restaurant in Charleston a few years back, so I knew we were in for a unique experience. Like the Husk in Charleston, the restaurant is in a residential neighborhood and in a beautiful, historic 19th-century mansion.
The lighted pathway to the front door creates the mood. The dining room’s high ceilings make us feel like guests at an intimate dinner party. Windows are framed in delicate white lights as a nod to the season.
We discover that the tableware is created especially for Husk by a local ceramicist named Caroline Cercone. As a sentimental touch, they are fired with ashes from Husk’s fireplace. One of many thoughtful touches in this jewel box setting on Rutledge Hill.
We eat our way through the seasonal menu, tempted by the warm skillet cornbread and spaghetti squash johnny cakes, as well as shrimp and grits, and Bear Creek Farm pork. The meal exceeds expectations, which are already high. It’s a nice contrast to trendy, open Etch and the local, rustic Rolf & Daughters. Three distinctive dinners in a city of distinctive food.
The best things to do in Nashville: Sip and shop
A girl’s trip wouldn’t be complete without a little window shopping. We pick a few neighborhoods and wander aimlessly. The weather is bleak and cold, but it refuses to dampen our spirits.
We drop in and out of local boutiques, cupcake shops, coffee shops, and Reese Witherspoon’s retail venture, Draper James, which is located in the 12 South neighborhood.
Later, we head towards Germantown for a coffee snob’s dream brew at The Barista Parlor. We lose ourselves there for over an hour, chatting and relaxing. The cavernous warehouse setting makes it a great spot to wait out the rain.
At Alexis + Bolt, we oooh and aaahh over the mix of home decor and clothing. However, the real showstopper is the actual space that the owner designed. Dramatically colored walls, funky wallpaper, and a bathroom make a bold statement.
There are couches and coffee tables that double as retail displays, piled high with thoughtfully curated merchandise. The owner is all too happy to chat with us about her design aesthetic, favorite paint colors (Sherwin-Williams, Black Fox), and her sweet doodle, who roams the boutique
The best things to do in Nashville: Visit Marathon Village
Once the rain really sets in, we decide to head indoors. Marathon Motor Works, which originally manufactured cars back in the early 1900s, has been converted into over 130,000 square feet of multi-use space. A comedy club, distilleries, shops, and restaurants only begin to scratch the surface of this unique building. It’s since been renamed Marathon Village, and we spend time weaving in and out of the shops.
Heavy on TN souvenirs, we also discovered a few art galleries and jewelry shops that celebrate local artists. The building’s interior is interestingly designed and has a museum-quality feel, displaying various auto parts from the past 100 years.
Bye Y’all
We make friends at every turn, Uber drivers, locals, bartenders, and shop owners alike. Maybe this is just the way it’s always been in Nashville. Regardless, it was love at first bite, sight, and note. I now have The Highway pre-programmed into Sirius XM.
But most importantly, I learned to say y’all with genuine enthusiasm.
I’ve come to realize that the best way to travel these days, is through my travel memories. In many cases, those memories take the form of photographs that get stored in albums and tucked away on a shelf. But some of my favorite travel memories are in the form of the things I collected along the way. Due to recent world events, accessing those travel memories is as easy as walking around the house.
Maya Angelou wrote, “Every storm runs out of water eventually”.
The world is waiting for the storm to pass. While I wait, as everyone seems to be pointing out, through every news outlet, television show, YouTube video, and Instagram post, I can look at this as a chance to reset, slow down, and pay attention to things I hadn’t been paying attention to before. Was I not paying attention? I can’t remember.
These days, my mornings involve meditation—about 10-15 minutes, in my favorite chair. I like Unplug, and especially love the voice and cadence of Lauren Eckstrom. She is my new very important person. So is John Krasinski. I am all about good news. Even if it is just ‘some’ good news.
I had been a part-time meditator. I wasn’t very motivated and had a bad habit of running through my to-do list while wondering what to make for dinner, and simultaneously petting my pups. This, from what I understand about meditation, is highly frowned upon. I’ve gotten better at keeping my mind on track since my to-do list has shrunk exponentially. My appetite, on the other hand, is not shrinking.
Finding Space
I like the space in my house where I sit. It’s bright, even on rainy days, and has big windows looking onto green grass, a burnt red Japanese maple, and an open sky. I can also hear birdsong, more now because the DC Shuttle isn’t flying over my head every 3.4 minutes. Small things.
On the way to and from that comfy corner of my house, I pass through my living room. The room where we used to have friends over for drinks. The room where we now watch Netflix for hours on end. It is also the room that houses the things we collect.
Small collections of big things.
Big collections of small things.
Shells, matchbooks, Lonely Planet guidebooks, pottery, Japanese kokeshi dolls, biographies, and found objects—to name a few of the things we’ve amassed over the years. I even have a sun-bleached goat’s jawbone that my kids and father-in-law found while hiking a barren hilltop in Turkey. That sounds made up, and gross. It’s neither, I promise.
I’ve spent a lot more time focusing on these collections recently. Not just a ‘Wow, that’s a pretty shell I found when I was in Maine’, kind of focus. More like, ‘remembering the stories that are attached to them’, kind of focus. The family travels that brought them from there, to here.
Starting out
Twenty years ago, when my husband and I started traveling together, we’d pick up a memento from our trip. Some people collect shot glasses, postcards, or, like my old boss from NYC, beach sand. Others collect art, magnets, keychains, or t-shirts. For whatever reason, we always sought out a piece of pottery. That it was made in the country we were visiting was the only requirement. (Although we did break that rule, for a very good reason. Twice.)
Sometimes we disagreed, and one of us had to concede. Usually, ummm, always, Daniel. It was fun to display them around our little NYC apartment when we got home.
When we moved to Tokyo ten years later and unpacked our boxes, we discovered that all of the pieces we had been collecting were in the form of small bowls. It surprised me how consistent we were in our taste over the years. (I’m assuming that no one who knows me is going to find that at all surprising.)
At last count, we had 26 bowls from around the world. I have been looking at these bowls a lot lately, usually after I’ve finished meditating. How often have I walked past them without a thought? Forgetting how they got here, to this house, from Iceland, Bhutan, Colombia,Montenegro, and so on. Decades of stories and memories sitting in front of me. I took out my notebook and started to write. Free time can hold so much power.
Find the Memories Hiding In Your Travel Collections
In 2017, we took our kids to South Africa. We spent a week in glorious Cape Town, exploring neighborhoods, beaches, wineries, and museums. One night, we stumbled into an area called The Old Biscuit Mill. Located in the Woodstock neighborhood, it is a converted mill that now houses hip restaurants, artists’ showrooms, trendy boutiques, and bakeries. It’s also next door to the famed South African restaurant, The Test Kitchen.
The storefront of Imiso Ceramics drew me like a moth to a flame. Founded by two South African artists, Zizipho Poswa and Andile Dyalvane, their styles of ceramics were different from one another, yet complimented each other seamlessly. The brightly lit, spare, showroom was mesmerizing. From the inky darkness outside, we cupped our eyes, pressed our heads up against the windows, and peered inside.
They were just about to close for the evening but allowed us in. I was inspired by everything. Typically when we travel, something immediately jumps out at me from a shop or gallery. Sometimes, we travel and never fall in love with anything. It was a candy store of beautiful ceramics, and I was that child who wanted it all.
Meeting both Zizi and Andile in the studio made choosing one piece challenging, to say the least. We spent a good amount of time talking with them about the inspirations and techniques of their craft. We fell for both of their styles. It was rare for us to meet the artist that created the ceramics we would ultimately buy.
In the name of fairness, we bought a piece from each of them, and they lovingly packed them up to ship to our home in DC. We bought a hand-pinched piece from Zizi, a white bowl lined with metallic paint and a vivid, blood-red interior. Then, a piece from Andile’s intense ‘Scarified’ collection. Scarification is the ancient African traditional act of cutting the skin in order to ward off negative and evil spirits. The pure white bowl’s exterior was repeatedly sliced, revealing hints of primary colors under the ‘skin’. Each bowl held the intensity of the artist’s culture within it.
A few weeks after our return to the US, our bowls arrived. Now, those pieces sit on shelves in our home and hold the stories of Zizi and Andile, their heritage, as well as the backstory of finding them late that night at the Old Biscuit Mill, just as they were closing up shop.
The bowl that ignited Yet another collection
Santa Fe is a city filled with arts, culture, great food, and gorgeous hiking. Lisa, a friend since my Tokyo days, and I chose it as our girls’ weekend destination—she was coming from LA, and I was coming from DC. We had no plans, aside from a few dinner reservations. The New York Times’ ’36 Hours in Santa Fe’ became our sole guide.
As it turned out, a plan wasn’t necessary, as locals were happy to steer us around the charming town. In fact, we ended up changing a reservation based on a tip from a local store owner one evening. On another day, we ended up at a fantastic Peruvian breakfast dive on the outskirts of town. Local knowledge rules, as always.
After checking into our hotel, we walked around town aimlessly, trying to find the main square. Andrea Fisher Fine Pottery was the first gallery we set foot in, and I still consider it the best. Andrea Fisher has collections of ceramics from several well-known Native American tribes, many of whom still hone their craft on New Mexico reservations, their skills continuing to be passed down through the generations.
Black and white is my go-to color palette or lack of color palette as some might argue. When I first caught sight of the Acoma display of ceramics, I had a hunch I wasn’t leaving New Mexico without one. The layers and levels of detail, especially from the older masters, are impossible to mentally process. That the finely brushed, intricate patterns are created by hand, and not a machine, is a marvel of craftsmanship that I might never be able to wrap my head around.
The Acoma Puebla is not too far from Albuquerque and has occupied a staggering 5,000,000 acres of ancient land for over 2000 years, making it one of the oldest continuously lived-in communities in the United States.
In reading up on the tribe and their pottery traditions, (thank you mom, for the thoughtful coffee table book) I learned that the geometric patterns are applied with the spike of a yucca plant. The folklore goes on to say, that after a pot was finished, the artist would lightly strike its side, then listen carefully for a ringing sound. If they didn’t hear a ring, it would mean that the piece would crack while under fire.
The thunderbolt-designed bowl I bought that day had the honor of sparking yet another collection. Since then, my husband has occasionally surprised me with Acoma pottery for Mother’s Day gifts, anniversaries, and birthdays. I once tried to buy one for him, for his birthday. But my daughter called my bluff, knowing it was sneakily a gift for me, not him. Damn.
Find the Memories Hiding In Your Travel Collections
The memories that surround what might be my favorite bowl are fuzzy, at best. My memory is not great under normal circumstances, and going from 2020 to 2007 is a stretch. I will have to improvise a little.
When we moved to Tokyo, we started receiving a magazine called Kateigaho, which considers itself the ‘definitive source for Japanese arts and culture.’ Thumbing through an issue, a dazzling insight into the world of which I was now a part, I was mesmerized. Swoon-worthy architecture, upscale hidden kaiseki restaurants, and Japanese art and artisans were the tip of the Asian iceberg, so to speak.
It was in an issue of Kateigaho, very early in our days there, where I saw a photo of an elder Japanese ceramicist and his stunning work. The exquisite pieces he turned jumped at me from the glossy pages. His finishes were unusual, partly matte, but with an imperceptible sheen. The leaves of the Japanese maple, Momi-ji, were a motif that captivated me. It has since become my favorite tree, as well as one of my favorite memories attached to living in Japan. Overlapping leaves create endlessly intriguing patterns as the sun passes through them—just like the one I see out of my window each morning in DC.
I must have tracked him down, visited his studio, and somehow communicated with him. I am sure he spoke as much English as I spoke Japanese. The only proof I have of the transaction is the bowl itself. My memory is blank. I don’t have his name. Nothing to go on but a lost back issue of Kateigaho from 2007, and an illegible signature on the base of the bowl. Look out eBay, I am still searching, and I will find it.
Looking backward, and forwards
Some of my best travel memories are stored in this collection of little bowls—invisible though they may be to everyone else. Every so often, I look at them and remember the places that we went, the people we met along the way, and the travels that changed us somehow, and allowed us to see the world in a new way. I miss travel. The ache is real.
For the time being, I will sit in my favorite red chair, overlooking green grass, watching the delicate leaves unfurl, day by day, on my very own Japanese maple, and meditate. On the way to that chair, I will pass by those bowls and remind myself of their stories. I like the idea of my memories being attached to the objects in my house. Not a bad way to travel, at least for now.
Find the Memories Hiding In Your Travel Collections
Dunton Hot Springs is a remote getaway filled with wildlife and hiking adventures, farm-to-table meals, and a western vibe that had us dreaming of simpler times. Dunton Hot Springs—a little escape from reality in the cool, breezy San Juan mountains of Colorado.
Remote, restorative, and secluded, are buzzwords that have always piqued my curiosity when reading about travel, but never as much as they do at this particular moment in time. I long for fresh air and wide-open spaces. I have a pressing need to immerse myself in Mother Nature, or in a cozy room with a blanket, and a heart-pumping page-turner. These travel longings have zoomed, no pun intended, to the top of my bucket list. I crave the creature comforts of home, but somewhere that is anywhere but my home.
Likely, I am not alone in these cravings, or in these wistful dreams of travel. I’d like to sink into a bed made of clouds, without having to make it in the morning. I’d like to feast upon a wholesome, home-cooked meal. Yet, I don’t want to go food shopping, Instacart, or clean dishes, afterward. I’d love to open windows onto a field of wildflowers and hear horses neighing in the distance, rather than the sirens that often pierce the silence of my neighborhood’s otherwise quiet streets.
Hello, Dunton!
Tucked away in the southwest corner of Colorado, along the west fork of the Dolores River, and at nearly 9,000 ft, sits Dunton Hot Springs. My family visited Dunton a few summers ago, and I have been wondering why this particular place, of all places, is calling me back. Maybe it’s because Dunton, quite naturally, delivers on that precise home away from home feeling I am currently craving.
The cluster of rustic log cabins at Dunton Hot Springs felt like a throwback to another era or the set of an old-time western film. A collection of fourteen mining town log cabins of various shapes and sizes dotted the expansive property, some of which had been gently relocated from other parts of Colorado. Its vast1500 acres, flanked by majestic mountains, cool waterfalls, and the serpentine Dolores River, together provided a natural playground for the multitude of activities Dunton offered.
The inherent beauty of Dunton Hot Springs was evident from every angle. Look left—sprawling fields of buttercups stood vibrant and golden against the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Look right—on-property trails led to an ice-cold gushing waterfall that was heard long before it was seen. The air was cleaner and clearer, and all of our senses were as elevated as the mountaintops we looked out upon.
Dining In, and Out
Our first meal was at a weather-beaten picnic table on the deck outside of the saloon, a welcome way to settle in after two flights, and a scenic two-hour drive. A row of hummingbird feeders along the porch swayed gently in the crisp breeze. We watched intently as these tiny, mighty, birds vied for space to feed—buzzing, whirling, and hovering, all at once. Every so often, a larger hummingbird would sharply dart towards a feeder, bumping a smaller one down the line. Bullying—acceptable behavior in the avian world.
It was an amusing sideshow to our hearty, multi-course lunch, an added touch of theater. The food, with a new, locally-sourced menu prepared daily, was to be a big part of our western adventure. We dined on local elk, and roasted vegetables from their farm—the first of many enticing meals we were to enjoy during our stay. Preparation took place in the open-plan kitchen, where guests were encouraged to watch and ask questions while the chef created the day’s feast.
In the evenings, we gathered at the original, old-fashioned bar in the saloon to meet up with the bartender, and critique his latest cocktail. Oversized picture books of architecture, photography, and nature, lay atop a low coffee table for us to peruse. The kids headed outside to climb on a rusted-out tractor-trailer, or play ring toss. A recently lit bonfire soared nearby, sheepskin throws waited on benches for cold shoulders to warm. The scene called for the gooey s’mores we were destined to devour later.
Later, we were seated at a long, communal, wooden farmhouse table, where we would relay the day’s events, or lack thereof, to the other guests. A wagon-wheel light fixture hovered overhead, lights flickering. While some guests told tales of fly fishing, or their hike through the spruce and aspen forests, others had been content to spend the day reading or soaking in the natural hot springs for which the resort is known.
RElaxing at every turn
Likely discovered by the Ute Native Americans, the soothing hot springs are a true focal point and highlight of the property. Resting somewhere between 85 and 106 degrees in temperature, part of the spring is enclosed within a 19th-century bathhouse. Steam rose ethereally towards the vaulted ceilings, and gently fogged the tall glass-framed wall. A low-slung hammock, high-end bath products, and plush towels seemed wholly designed to keep us in a never-ending state of deep relaxation.
The outdoor area of the spring had unobstructed views of the San Juan mountains. Since the bathhouse and springs can be used at any hour of the day, we were able to watch the sky turn from subtle shades of blue to inky black, over the course of the night. Stars blinked hello. It was so silent, I didn’t trust it.
Rooms with a View
The decor of the cabins at Dunton is classic Americana and had homespun touches like flannel blankets, and patterned rugs with hues of rich reds and federal blues. Vintage snowshoes might hang on the wall of one cabin, while framed vintage western movie posters may be on another.
The cabin named Dolores, for instance, boasted an original Rajsthan wedding bed, as well as a large, private viewing deck. The Dunton Store, one of the pet-friendly cabins, had its own private hot spring and a gas stove. Christy’s Tent prided itself on its magnificent view from the oversized shower. The cabins varied in size so that regardless of how many guests were in your group, you were likely to find a great fit.
The Potter House
Since we were traveling with another family to Dunton, we opted for the Potter House, which slept ten people, and was adjacent to a lively beaver pond. The Potter House has five bedrooms and 3.5 baths laid out over three levels, a large kitchen, wraparound decks with 360 views, and all the cozy comforts a log cabin could muster. The fireplace was a welcomed luxury as it took the edge off of the cool, dry June nights.
One morning, we opted out of any formal activities in favor of a ‘day to do nothing’ at our cabin. We called down to the saloon and asked if we could have some essential items brought up to accompany the ‘nothing’ we were planning to accomplish. Within 30 minutes, we had two bottles of rosé, four glasses, and enough chocolate and salty snacks to keep us in place for the afternoon.
As we relaxed into our day, the kids went rogue. They climbed into an old tractor overrun with dandelions near the stables. They played corn hole and volleyball. They ran, they biked, stirred up the hot springs, and swayed in the hammock. It was a detox from our electronically-controlled lives. The old-fashioned setting suited us in a way we could never have imagined.
Do everything or do nothing at all
As tempting as it was to have another day of ‘nothing’, we managed to get out and experience the nature we traveled so far enjoy. We ambled up into the mountains, traversed streams, watched for bears, and eventually stomped through lingering mushy, melting, mountaintop snow. Horseback riding, mountain biking, and rock climbing were available to those of us who wanted a bigger rush of adrenaline. I was happiest in the hot springs, or on the deck, where I watched a mama bird source food for her babies that lived in a nest under the eaves of Potter House. Nature was the main event, and it fed into every moment, big and small.
A Place for all Seasons
It wasn’t very surprising to recently discover that Dunton Hot Springs made Conde Nast’s coveted Gold List this year. A well-deserved accolade for a former sleepy mining town, far removed from civilization, nestled high in the San Juan mountains.
Although we visited Dunton Hot Springs in the summer, it is the kind of place that I imagine offers up a completely unique experience with each season. The landscape lends itself to endless activities and ways to relax. While we usually don’t find ourselves repeating the same trip twice, just this once, I could be tempted. The wide-open spaces are calling.
I think back to that summer at Dunton and the memory snapshots that made it so unforgettable. I can’t help but come back to the buzzwords that drew me there in the first place; remote, restorative, secluded. And the refrain that continues to echo in my mind—a home away from home.
