Category Archives: Travel

It’s always risky tampering with a tried and true formula, and when you’ve had enjoyable experiences at a hotel in the past, hearing of a renovation or revamping tends to leave me more skeptical than hopeful. Such was my state of trepidation as we returned to the Dupont Circle Hotel for a quick one-night stay mid-week near the end of October. The city had just been soaked in a deluge of rain, but when we arrived the skies were dry, if a little gray. One of my favorite parts of the hotel on previous stays had been its heated bathroom floor. I’m happy to report that they are still intact, lending a cozy aspect to the modern design – the lighting of which makes anyone look exceptionally good.

There is a daily $25 charge for those mysterious hotel fees that almost everywhere seems to be charging, but they gave us a $10 credit to be used in the bar (or restaurant I believe, but why would I use it in the restaurant when I could put it toward a drink at the bar?) Speaking of which, both restaurant and bar – long-time favorites – have been updated as well, and happily for the better – an almost impossible feat to surpass something great and produce something greater – but they pulled it off. Based on the steady trickle of people on a weather-wise questionable mid-week night, the bar is still very much a destination of its own, and rightly so. It’s more handsome than ever, even if the cocktails are on the small side for their price points. (Maybe I’ve just been away from Washington for too long.)

Our room overlooked DuPont Circle, with a curved window that ran its entire length. The beds were offset at an angle, making unique use of the unconventional shape of the surroundings. It worked well, subverting the traditional linear notion of squares and rectangles. Complimentary bottled water was in plentiful supply, and after a late-night dinner we returned to a turned-down bed and a single pair of bed slippers and one bedtime chocolate. Strange for a room booked for two people (I do not share chocolate), but it was a minor concern for a stay that retained the original luster of the place while adding bits of new sparkle along the way.

That sparkle was most evident in the service, which was more than exemplary. Attentive front desk operators and valets went out of their way to engage and offer help at every turn. It wasn’t just surface service either – it ran all the way through the bar and restaurant on premises, which is the mark of a stellar property. An establishment is only as strong as its weakest link, and there were no such links here. What a happy thing it is to return to a favored place of respite and find it altered for the better.

{Apologies for interrupting our summer story with this forgotten hotel review – I meant to put it up on Trip Advisor but it got away from me. Since I’ve had Savannah on my mind of late, it’s going up here – a bit of hopefully helpful advice for anyone contemplating a Savannah trip – something I highly recommend.}

With its ideal location, and a little (perhaps more than a little) polish, the DeSoto Hotel could take its place as a Savannah gem.

While its structure is rooted in concrete and modern lines that seem at odds with the heart of the historic district, the DeSoto Hotel does its best with its bones, and the relatively recent renovation to the lobby makes for a beautiful and modern space. The rooms, hallways, and elevators leave a bit more to be desired, but we made the most of it and called it character.

Set in the midst of the historic district, the location of this hotel is its main drawing point. Right outside the door are the beautiful squares of Savannah, and the bustling riverfront is just a ten-to-fifteen-minute walk away. For those looking for a quieter place to rest their heads at night, this may prove better than the hotels closer to the action.

The dim hallways and deteriorating elevators make moving through the hotel the worst part of a stay, and a musty scent of old-age continually battled with the room attendant’s cleaning spray in a less-than-pleasant way, but the staff was friendly and accommodating.

There was a modern-day feature of checking in with me via text to see if we needed anything. Not at all unwelcome, it was a nice touch, and one that I tried when our room was still not cleaned from the previous day by 2 PM. A quick text back and someone responded that they would send someone up right away. Though “right away” seems to mean something different in Savannah, we didn’t mind – but if you want to come back to fresh towels after lunch, it might be good to make such a request before leaving for the day.

Though the weather was not quite warm enough to make use of the pool, that looked like the place to be when it got sunny again, with an outside bar area that opens up “when it hits about 75” degrees, according to the loose hours transmitted by one of the hotel employees.

A puzzling shower set up had the shower door opening right next to the toilet, requiring a bit of nimbleness and care, but the water pressure was nice and the shampoo and body wash dispensers were filled. Bed and sheets were exceedingly comfortable and our corner room had a balcony that looked over Savannah. That and the city itself made up for any less-than-perfect odds and ends.

“Savannah was invariably gracious to strangers, but it was immune to their charms. It wanted nothing so much as to be left alone.” ~ John Berendt

It ended in the same way it began ~ at the airport, with a piano player doing what piano players do in a sunny atrium somewhere outside of Savannah. Picking up a last-minute praline for Mom, I immediately went to daydreaming about another visit, perhaps with the parents in tow. Savannah has enough magic for everyone, and with its walkable squares and plentiful historical excursions, along with such excellent food and drink, enough appeal for the most finicky of family members. I made a mental note to plan something in the future.

Part of its charm was no doubt due to the fact that I was vacation with Andy ~ a state in which we rarely find ourselves these days. It’s a happy circumstance that brings a certain peace, especially when separated from the usual burdens and chores of a house and work and political news briefings. We removed ourselves from that stressful world and sunk deep into siestas and slow walks among the pretty squares of the historic district, reviving ourselves with Southern bourbon cocktails and low country food-stuffs. Just as we were easing into an easy-going frame of mind, when the sweet slowness of the Southern pace was finally part of our schedule, it was time to go. That’s ok ~ we will take a bit of it back with us, I thought as I perused a book of Southern recipes and vaguely worked out a brunch or afternoon gathering for a sunny late spring day. Until then, here’s a linky look back at our Savannah Adventures:

• The Savannah Chronicles Part 1
• The Savannah Chronicles Part 2
• The Savannah Chronicles Part 3
• The Savannah Chronicles Part 4
• The Savannah Chronicles Part 5
• The Savannah Chronicles Part 6

“Once upon a time the world was sweeter than we knew. Everything was ours; how happy we were then, but then once upon a time never comes again.” ~ Johnny Mercer

I’ve always found cemeteries to be more than just peaceful places of repose. They are perfect for meditation, for returning to a frame of mind that is both grounded and relieved by mundane concerns. When it comes down to life and death, we are all equal. We each get one. What we do with the former is largely up to us; the latter is confoundingly out of our control, for the most part. Andy and I were dropped off at the entrance to the cemetery, and after a lost pair of sunglasses (I gave them up to Savannah’s ghosts) we began our self-guided walk along trees hung with Spanish moss and blooming camellias around every gravestone.

Little Gracie Watson’s marker ~ a pale sculpture of astounding life-like sadness ~ was surrounded and protected by an iron fence. It had proved too popular to be left open to careless tourists. We passed the cemetery for Conrad Aiken as well ~ I had no idea that he was buried there. Our real quest was for Johnny Mercer, and near the end of our journey we found him and his family. Beside a few palm trees, and marble etched with some of his many lyrics, Mr. Mercer’s site was in the peaceful shade of a few trees, near enough the water to feel its breeze. Nearby, a wayward wisteria wound its way around an iron gate, while camellias bloomed amid the green and gray.

“To understand the living, you got to commune with the dead…”

We paused there for a moment. We lucked out and were the only ones around for a while. Amid the beauty, there was peace. A few birds chirped above us as we made our way out of the cemetery. Our time in Savannah was coming to a close, and much too quickly…

“That old black magic has me in its spell,

That old black magic that you weave so well

Icy fingers up and down my spine

The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine…”

~ Johnny Mercer

Before the cemetery, a few words on food.

Savannah is rightly renowned for its Southern cooking, and while I opted out of another low country boil (I enjoyed one mightily last time) I kept mostly to fish and some stereotypical Southern dishes. (Hello, butter-slathered grits.) I also splurged on this fried chicken and waffle combo, drizzled with a bourbon walnut syrup to soften the Bloody Mary on hand. There’s nothing healthy going on here, and that’s exactly how it should be for a vacation.

Andy enjoyed the food selections as well, being particularly enamored of our meal at Elizabeth’s on 37^th, which had a steak that came with the best sauce he’s ever tasted. He also delved into the bourbon, but the libations of Savannah really deserve their own post. I’ll save that for a summer day. In the meantime, we had a visit to Bonaventure Cemetery. The day was sunny and turning warm. A stroll beneath the oaks sounded divine…

Following our marvelous dinner at Elizabeth’s on 37^th, we headed back to the hotel for a change into more casual clothing for the evening plans. Those in-between moments are often what I recall with the most fondness ~ the warm lights of our hotel room, a brief survey of Savannah from the balcony while a balmy night wind swirled around us, and an extra spritz of Jo Malone all created a sweet memory of safety. Intentionally so, as we were about to visit a place of darkness…

Built atop a pile of soldier bones, the Sorrel-Weed House is one of the most haunted places in all of America. It comes with years of tragic history, and the scandalous doings of its former inhabitants seem to bleed through its very walls. While I chickened out on going into it last time, with Andy in tow I felt emboldened to schedule a night-time tour (with explicit instructions for him not to move more than one foot from my side during the entire duration of the thing).

Mulling around the courtyard, we approached the 10 PM hour that marked the start of the tour. Talk of ghosts ensued, haunting incidents were discussed, and by the time we entered the front door of the house I was thoroughly shook. Andy was amused more than anything and within minutes had violated my strict do-not-move-more-than-12-inches-from-me rule, leaving me to fend for myself against evil spirits and the not-quite-completely-gone.

Most of my sensible side was merely entertained by everything the guide told us, but there was no denying that tragedy had taken place repeatedly in that space, and I do believe that trauma like that leaves a stain. Maybe it’s the mere knowledge of something bad having happened that stirs something in us, and maybe we bring it into being. However it happens, there was a discernible chill when they brought us into the basement (which is how basements usually work).

The tour ended in the square outside the house, where the remaining history of the original tenants was told. We weren’t that far from the Mercer House. As I may have mentioned, every step of Savannah feels haunted.

That night, vivid nightmares marched through my restless sleep. I had not escaped untouched. Though it may sound strange, the idea of visiting Bonaventure Cemetery the next day sounded peaceful. Perhaps the dead sleep better when they’re properly buried…

The importance of an afternoon siesta, especially when on vacation, is something that has escaped the hustling and bustling of this country’s habit. We partake of it whenever we find ourselves on vacation, as much for Andy’s back as for its own restorative properties. In Savannah, it’s a natural fit, so after returning from the Mercer House, on an early afternoon that hinted at sunlight but hesitated at every turn, we tumbled into bed (as soon as the DeSoto deigned to clean the room ~ Southern time is ever-unrushed) and rested up for a dinner at Elizabeth’s on 37^thand a night-time tour of one of Savannah’s most haunted spots.

Along with the siesta, another hallmark of our Savannah adventure was the perfect proliferation of fancy cocktails and intoxicating libations. Southerners know the importance of a proper drink, and how to prepare them. They also allow you a to-go cup, which is permissible so long as it’s covered. What an ingenious idea! We didn’t seem to leave enough in our glasses to ever partake of the tradition, but in Savannah it felt so much classier than Las Vegas or New Orleans. (It’s how these things are done that makes all the difference.)

Certain restaurants are institutions, and in Savannah one of those is Elizabeth’s on 37^th. While the Pink House was still under renovation after a fire this past winter, Elizabeth’s was more than a substitute ~ it stands proudly on its own, its quaint setting rivaled only by its stupendous culinary offerings. Easily the best meal we would have while in town, it was also one of the most fun, thanks to a cadre of servers who were as warm and friendly as they were swift and helpful.

We sat at a table looking onto the side yard, where a fig tree was strung with Edison bulbs and the suddenly-blue sky turned to indigo…

‘Midnight in the Garden of Good And Evil’ by John Berendt was the inspiration for most of our sightseeing, as Andy has loved that movie since it came out. Our first full day in Savannah began with a breakfast at Clary’s Cafe, followed by a tour of the Mercer House. Ghosts, murder, and delicious food conspired to craft the kind of enchantment that can only be found here. Each square has its stories and fables and hauntings, and the whole city is built upon bones. It’s impossible not to feel the work of restless souls on the edge of midnight. If I died somewhere so strikingly beautiful, I might not want to leave either. Still, for all its gorgeousness, a sense of the unsettled seemed to lurk in every shadow.

After breakfast we meandered around the squares near Mercer House. A half-marathon was in progress, and the finish line was nearby at Forsyth Park. We skirted the edge of the space, then retreated to less-populous areas. A few tiny boutiques sold art and jewelry and other unique gifts. I found a bracelet made of fabric-covered beads. Passing showers made a bit of shopping preferable to sitting on wet benches, and soon it was time to tour Mercer House.

While the sensational and tragic aspects of what happened there overshadow almost everything else, the main thing one walks away with after seeing such magnificence and hearing all the history is the idea that Jim Williams saved quite a bit of Savannah, restoring Mercer House and countless other homes to their historic glory. There was artistic ambition and a love for beauty and history that permeated those verdant squares.

There was a darkness as well, like in the rich aubergine hue of the gentlemen’s drawing room walls, which Mr. Williams mixed himself. He also painted the faux-marble borders in finely convincing fashion. Such attention to detail, such painstaking intricacies ~ they point to an obsession with perfection and a fussiness for the fancy things in life. It is, largely, a way of life we seem to be losing, a carefulness that tends to get carelessly tossed away, or vulgarized to the point of becoming a tourist attraction. We each had a hand in it, I suppose.

That didn’t dull the beauty or detract from the wonder.

We made our way back to the hotel, while flowers winked and fountains whispered…

Ever since I returned to Savannah last year I’ve been wanting to bring Andy back to experience the charm that this beautiful city exudes at every turn. (And with our newly-approved TSA Precheck status, we were anxious to try out an expedited airport experience.) We arrived at the DeSoto Hotel in the middle of the gorgeous Historic District early in the day. While Andy settled in for a siesta, I made a quick run to the Broughton Street shopping area to find a signature scent for this Savannah trip. Every trip begins with a scent selection and an itinerary. Andy and I both do well with a relatively structured plan ~ it appeals to my Virgo nature and his police background. For this vacation I made a little peach-blossom itinerary card and set some tentative dinner and excursion ideas down.

As soon as we arrived, the magic of Savannah was in effect ~ azaleas were in bloom everywhere, and the low-country smell of the river ~ a very distinct odor that borders on good and bad, and which I’ve come to adore, rolled over the breezy warm weather. Rainstorms had been forecast for every.single.day. we were scheduled to be there, so I kept my expectations low. Somehow I had to believe that Savannah’s enchantment would not be dampened by rain. As I looked out toward the river, the wind kicked up, but it was warm, and there was no rain.

At the fragrance store, I couldn’t decide between two very distinct Jo Malone bottles ~ a Southern-tinged ‘Honeysuckle & Davana’ or a Limited Edition ‘Willow & Amber.’ I’d favor the Willow and save the Honeysuckle as a gift for my Mom.

The walk back to the hotel was filled with trees hanging heavily with Spanish moss, some also lined with swaths of little ferns. Everywhere life hung and peeked, and in the multitude of squares that led through the historic area, camellias of all kinds were in full bloom.

We took our cocktails at the top of the Bohemian Hotel ~ an outside balcony ran around the edge, where revelers were already celebrating the weekend and the sunny, warm weather. Dinner reservations weren’t for another hour, so we settled in at the bar and enjoyed the bourbon and all that sweet Southern hospitality.

Our Georgia journey had begun…

Our trip to Savannah is quickly approaching (I just had our itinerary printed out on the cutest peach-blossom stationary) and so the day warrants a look back at my last visit to that magical city of the South. With its Spanish moss, beautifully-manicured squares, and historic ghosts, Savannah is a land of delicious enchantment. Like many people, I first succumbed to its siren call after reading John Berendt’s ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’ – simply known as ‘The Book’ to locals. This was back in the 90’s, and Lady Chablis was still holding court at her club. Sadly, I never made it to one of her shows, and now she is no longer with us, but her legacy endures, and she has not been forgotten. As much as I enjoyed the novel, it was the city that ultimately captured my fancy, seducing with its charm and character, bending perception and experience with its beguiling ways. From the food and drink to the convivial atmosphere and friendly denizens, Savannah was like an eccentric old friend who welcomes one without outward judgment. 

Last time around we booked our accommodations at the Mansion on Forsyth; this time we’ll be staying at the DeSoto Hotel, a little closer to the action. I’ve also booked dinners at The Grey and Elizabeth’s on 37^th, because so much of Savannah’s allure is in its culinary sorcery. The libations on offer are pretty nifty too. This marks Andy’s first trip to Georgia, so I’m hoping it’s extra-special; Savannah can’t help but work her magic on the most winter-weary visitor.

~ Savannah Part One

~ Savannah Part Two

~ Savannah Part Three

~ Savannah Part Four

This weekend Andy and I are headed to New York with Mom and Dad to see ‘Come From Away,’ while trying out the only New York Kimpton Hotel we haven’t stayed at yet – the Ink 48. I’m not sure which I’m more excited about: seeing the show, staying at the hotel, or having a weekend away with three of my favorite people. The Kimpton company has always been our favorite host when traveling, and after excellent stays at the Muse and the Hotel Eventi I cant wait to see what this property offers.

Many people claim that when staying in New York the hotel doesn’t matter as much as what you’ll be doing. In my younger years, that definitely proved to be true, especially considering some sketchy stays I survived in Chelsea, but as I’ve grown older I find the hotel matters a little bit more. A good view, a decadent bathroom, and room to breathe are more important than nights out until 3 AM. Thankfully, Kimpton has proven adept at supplying both comfort and entertainment, so I’m confident we will all enjoy our first stay at the Ink 48.

Sea had stayed at bay during the night. I’d kept the windows closed as it had cooled down considerably. Upon waking and walking to Cafe Madeleine, however, I noticed Sea was still around, a bit more sulky, perhaps, and she would follow me to Cape Cod, sifting through the sky and pouring down once I reached my destination. JoAnn and I sat near the bay window of her little mermaid home on Shore Road as the rain poured down, a worrisome state of affairs for Tressie’s graduation later that afternoon. The radar showed it moving off shore in the coming hours, though, and I remained hopeful it would clear. As JoAnn and I caught up, the sky lightened. Sea had thrown her fit and let Eel Pond take over for a bit.

I took a short walk to the Lobster Trap for a seafood fix, where I had the fortune to run into JoAnn’s sister Kate and her daughter Madison. They were good enough to join me for lunch, and celebrating Kate’s birthday as well, which is just how the universe sometimes works. The guests were gathering for the party. Excitement was in the air like the Sea.

On the walk home, I rounded the house and went a few more blocks out of the way to extend the beauty of the Cape. Privet and beach roses were in full bloom, sweetly scenting the misty air. Sea ran in channels all about the area, and I breathed her in alongside the oceanic cologne that wafted off the lichens and moss and wet-loving organisms.

Sky was gray, but her sister Blue had found habitation among the iconic Cape Cod hydrangeas. They don’t get any bluer than here. Subtler shades were found in the wet wreckage of the roadside vegetation, but there were accents of bright color if you got closer and slowed down to see.

Back in JoAnn’s backyard, her work on the gardens over the last couple of years was coming into beautiful fruition. Proper cultivation brought about bigger blooms, brighter colors and a pleasant richness that usually begins in a garden’s third or fourth year. The lessons of a garden were working their own magic – patience, persistence, perpetual failure followed by moments of redemption and gorgeous success. She’s a relatively new gardener, but she’s doing well and finding her way. It came about at just the right time, in just the manner the world intended it to be. A bit of grace, perhaps, in a mad world.

Hope was to be found in the future at hand as well, and celebrating Tressie’s graduation from college was a happy way of bringing everyone together, which is what JoAnn does best. I’ve had the pleasure of being her friend for almost twenty years, and in that time I’ve had the occasional favor of getting to peep in on parties and gatherings where her family members would enter and exit at various stages in our lives.

This was one of those times when everyone seemed to be at a good place. That rarely happens in such fortuitous fashion, not when there are so many of us treading so many different paths, but for one afternoon in June, when the rain held off and the breeze wasn’t too cool, a group of hopeful college grads christened us all with the bit of hope that we needed so badly.

Early the next morning, I departed for my niece’s dance recital, continuing on the circle of life. The day began uncool, gray fashion, and I was leaving Sea behind for the moment. We will be back to see her before the summer is over.