New England

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New England: March 2009

When my husband announced that he would like to do some exploring I jumped at the chance. After six years together this was the first time he had given any thoughts to leaving his beloved green and pleasant land, and I wasn't going to let him change his mind.
The problem was, where do you take someone whose idea of travelling to date had been on luxury rugby tours and who is at his happiest in the English countryside? I needed to start him off gently. New England. It’s England just a little newer and a little more American.

Never to be one to do anything normally I decided to pick the month of March for our trip. It meant a perfect combination of being able to combine two cities with a road trip (on tourist free roads) and skiing...4 holidays in one. And so one grey day in early march we landed in Boston.
Decision making had never been a strong point of mine so after weeks of researching various hotels to stay in, the cost of them all had crept up...the Omni Parker House came out best and although not in the Back Bay location, this four star landmark nineteenth century hotel seemed to fit the rest of the bill.
A metro ride from the airport and we ascended on to a dark and empty square in the heart of the business district. It's a weekend. With skis, boots and suitcases it's a difficult five minutes to the hotel, no tourists (great) but no people at all to ask for directions. I can already feel Hugo's frustration levels building. Luckily for me, nothing could diminish these faster than the sight of the biggest, squidgiest cushion covered bed - I almost needed a stepladder to climb into it; before sinking into a heavenly sleep.

Sunday arrived early, partly due to jet lag and partly due to falling asleep at 4pm. Boston is a small city and one best seen on foot so we spent the day exploring. First we wandered down to the aquarium, a costly place but nevertheless fun with the cutest and craziest looking penguins which we watched for far too long. It was a beautiful day but we were grateful to get out of the wind. We then walked around Quincy Market and up to Boston Common, finally a place with buzz! The sun was shining and with a sudden feeling of Bostonian in us, we copied the locals warming their faces in the sun.
Leading off from the common is Beacon Hill, a gorgeous village-like suburb with tree lined avenues, brownstone townhouses, tiny cobbled streets and Narnia style lampposts. One of the districts we should have stayed in. Photo ops were galore but the shops on Newbury Street beckoned so we worked up an appetite window-shopping in the eclectic mix of quaint and boutique shops situated in the basements of old townhouses, until we landed in Copley place, and the Daily Grill which served decent rugby sized portions for a reasonable price. At least the food would never be an issue with Hugo.
After the highs of the day, we were excited about our first proper night in Boston. Emerging from our hotel that evening on to the empty street, I dampened any negative thought with the constant reminder that 'Americans always eat out'. No such luck in our district on a Sunday or in Quincy Market for that matter either. We resorted to a dodgy pub near our hotel. The words ‘If only we had stayed near Copley Square’ kept spilling from my mouth.

For all its weekend location faults, the Omni Parker House was a lovely hotel and we were sad to check out the next day, knowing the next week was going to be full of unknown destinations and surprises. Let the road trip begin.
First stop, Harvard, in the pretty town of Cambridge. Part of this trip was an Ivy League tour to satisfy both of our desires to have gone to one. We picked up a car, stuffed it full of our luggage, left it in the Hertz car park and wandered on to the college campus at Harvard Yard. Trying to look like fellow students was easy since we were in our mid 20s, trying not to get lost and find certain sites without getting out the guide book wasn't so easy. We were not going to be beaten and with snow falling, we spent a romantic few hours pretending to be a cool American jock/cheerleader, purchasing all important kit from the collage shop and eating in a grill with fellow students. Sadly no more time could be wasted, and the scary roads of America beckoned. We climbed into our Ford Explorer, a meedioka 4x4 in America, the bull of English cars, and started the four-hour journey to Cape Cod. And thank goodness for the Sat Nav. Something I hadn't ordered, but luckily was in the car anyway. A terrifying first hour driving on the wrong side of the car and wrong side of the road, on the highway out of Boston in the rain. Something I wouldn't choose to ever do again. Nonetheless as we drove south the rain turned to light snow and by the time we hit Cape Cod the land was beautifully white too.
I had picked the tip of the cape for our stay, seventy five miles from the border, the vibrant village of Provincetown. Its best known for its art and gay community’s which meant it was perfect; well maintained white cladded houses looking over the sandy beaches on the curved tip of this peninsula; it looked like a film set. We stayed in the Oxford B&B, a gorgeous house at one end of the village. We had an incredibly cosy room with a fire and Penhaligon’s goodies in the bathroom. The Owners Stephen and Trevor were the perfect hosts providing tea and cakes as well as a feast for breakfast. Their retriever Potter made Hugo feel completely at home too.
They recommended Mews restaurant to us for dinner so we wandered up the quaint designer shop-lined street to their Monday open mic night. It was great fun, with some seriously talented locals, although the fear of being asked to sing ourselves meant that we called it a night and wandered back to our cosy fire.

We woke to a glorious blue day and pottered around on the snow covered sand by the Atlantic sea before heading back up the Cape. We stopped off in the sophisticated old town of Chatham, in search of the Chatham lighthouse and the huge expanse of beach holding the same name, before tasting our first real American fast food at a Wendy’s on the highway. Fully fuelled on grease, we carried on driving to a rainy Newport on Rhode Island. I had high hopes for Rhode Island but was disappointed by the busyness and drabness of it all. It was a relief to get to the mansions of Newport, and to be able to stretch our legs on the cliff walk in front of some hugely famous mansions, once the homes of JFK and the Vanderbilts. If we had more time it would have been nice to go inside Breakers, one of the grandest buildings, but it was early evening and RI hadn't won us over so we decided to drive into Massachusetts. Time was against us so we tapped Lenox into the satnav and drove the three hours on boring toll roads until we got to the Berkshire Hills. Lenox was right up our street, typical rural America with massive houses with perfect lawns. Sadly there were no hotels so we headed back to the town of Lee we had past a few miles before. With motels galore we were spoilt for choice but after our last night in a cosy B&B, the thought of shacking up with HGV drivers didn't seem quite so romantic. I didn’t want to put Hugo off just yet, so we found a Comfort Inn on the edge of the town; not quite as hardcore as we should have gone but it was low season so we got a great deal. It still wasn't a place you wanted to relax in, or really examine for that matter, so we headed straight for the busy eatery Arizona Pizza for food as cheap as our room. Much to Hugo embarrassment, when the waitress asked if we wanted to 'box the rest', I excitedly said yes, and we left with lunch for the next day.

After a hearty buffet breakfast using some crazy waffle-making machine, we left the Comfort Inn to our garlic pasta-smelling car. We headed north. First to the picture perfect town of Stockbridge with gigantic houses and old fashion shops, which looked like little had changed since the nineteenth century. With a lack of modern infrastructure in sight it is a perfect film set. After wandering through the village stores and a sweet gift shop it was time once more to head on up. Our next port of call was a much anticipated stop in the state of New York.
The initial drive was gorgeous. Driving through Pittsfield and Williamstown and various tiny old farming villages that looked liked we had jumped back a century. Old fashion tractors lined the fields and foreign looking logging vehicles thundered along the windy narrow roads.
Fort William Henry on Lake George was different. It was a ghost town. The replica fort was closed for winter but to be honest, the great disappointment was in the ugly town built around it. Even MaccyDs was shut for winter! We sat in the car park staring out at Lake George. After a morning drive this was it! All the excitement of reinacting the colonial wars (within the confidents of the museum of course) evaporated due to one minor glitch involving me not looking at their website... I could sense Hugo secretly calculating the cost of the wasted petrol.
Luckily the map showed it wouldn't take us too long if we drove across to New Hampshire and to cheer Hugo up we chose Hanover, the location of Ivy League collage Dartmouth. We cut through gorgeous mountainous countryside of Vermont, via a drive thru McDonalds and more excitingly a drive thru HSBC (no wonder America has an obesity issue) and arrived at the gorgeous town of Hanover at 6pm. We parked around the square in the middle of the pristine regency town and examined the guidebook. The light was dim but we were able to explore the stadiums and sports ground before dark fell. Although a campus spread out over the town, it was easy to identify the various departments. Jocks were busy working out in the gym and packing away after a training session on the football pitch so we hovered for a while as Hugo compared physiques from afar. After confirming with himself that he would have made the football team, we wandered back past the baseball pitches and residential blocks, admiring the picture perfect campus, surrounded by the wooded White Mountains and the Connecticut River. It was dark by the time we arrived at our car so we decided to find somewhere to stay. Our guidebook wasn't being particularly helpful with anything other than 5* glamorous accommodation so we made the hard decision of turning back along the commercial highway towards the industrious town of Lebanon and select one of the many highway hotels. We took the only room left at the Day Inn, not such a bargain at $92 but they could see the desperation on our faces.

The next morning we decided not to go back to Hanover as per the original plan, and instead drove up to Maine. We decided to pick the fast toll road which took us directly east before heading north. This allowed us to stop in Portsmouth, NH, for lunch. The town, like its name and fellow, is a port town and just how I imagined the English version looking like a century ago. Pretty bridges connect the various land points whilst industrious ships chug in between. It was bitterly cold and we suddenly realised quite how far we had driven since our nights in Boston and the Cape.
We carried on driving along the coastal route, past stunning inlets and rivers until we hit the town of Camden. Thick with snow, and with beautiful blue skies, a little harbour stuffed full of yachts at the foot of the Camden Hills National Park could not have looked more picturesque. We decide to treat ourselves to one of the many gorgeous B&Bs and choose a small hotel called the Inn at Camden Place in the centre. We had it all to ourselves. The owner was busy repainting ready for the summer season and told us to make ourselves at home. We choose room three, a gorgeous room overlooking the river, with a beautiful bathroom and huge bed. We decided to have a proper wander around and went to the old fashion local store to pick up some snacks - much needed as we were trying to cope with the -10 degree temperatures outside. Hugo wanted to use a computer so we made a visit to the library. It was quite possibly the most beautiful library we had ever seen, sitting up on a hill with panoramic views across the harbour and out to sea. The sun was beaming in through the grand sash windows onto the regency building and I could have happily fallen asleep with my magazine on the window seat.
For dinner that evening, we went with a guidebook recommendation to Cappy's. It was buzzing with locals, all who were fascinated with our accents. I wasn't terribly hungry, and being in Maine, felt I had to try the infamous crab roll (I had wanted lobster but it wasn't the season). After supper we literally ran back to the hotel (it was -14) and sat down in the sitting room to a bottle of wine the owner had left us.

The sun was shining once again the next morning so we decided to take the coastal road north past some more pretty seaside villages. After an hour, we headed inland, and the roads became emptier and smaller. The snow was thick and we could go for miles without seeing anyone. This was rural America at its best. The drive wasn't as long as we were used to, and we arrived in the tiny lakeside village of Greenville just before lunch. There had been two options for accommodation, and we decided to go with the cheaper option at Moosehead Inn which overlooks Moosehead Lake from a hill. It was a big mistake! For $75 we had an incredibly basic and freezing motel room. It was early and we had nothing to do! After sitting in our ski gear for a while trying to thaw out, we decided we should explore the town and see if we could find a guide to take us to see the Moose. Sadly we were informed that they migrate deep into the forest during the winter and we had little chances of seeing one. Oh dear - that was the only reason we had driven so far north. A little disappointed and with no desire to return to our shack, we wandered into The Black Frog for lunch. It was one of those buzzing places that go instantly quite when you walk in. We didn't quite fit in with the rest of the clientele - hick locals driving across the lake on snowmobiles. Nevertheless, the waitress was lovely and the views over the frozen snow covered lake were enough to make us stay for most of the afternoon. When we had run out of courses and with no draw to our motel, we decide to go for a drive and see if we could find any Moose ourselves. We drove north around the lake. We saw nobody on the roads. A perfect little ski resort wasn't open, no houses, no cars, nothing. Eerie whiteness. We realised we could have gone on forever and we should turn back but it took us another ten minutes to find any lanes or side roads. The turning happened to be the driveway for Wilson Camp, my other choice of accommodation. We drove down the Deer covered road to turn around by the cosy lake lined huts with wood burning stoves warming their inhabitants. The perfect place to have spent an afternoon whilst relaxing with a good book. As we drove back along the track and over the old railway, I swear I saw a baby Moose in the distant. Although Hugo thinks otherwise, he gives up trying to change my mind and I continue to drive back to our icy motel room feeling smug about my find

With nothing to do that evening we went to sleep at sunset and was therefore up at the crack of dawn too. With a tick next to a potential Moose sighting, there was no need to stay in Greenville so we headed back south for Maine's coastal town of Portland. It was another beautiful day driving through some pretty rural villages such as Dexter and Guilford, which in hindsight we should have stopped in. The guidebook had said that Portland was a laidback lively bohemian town with a growing restaurants and gallery scene, so we were excited about our visit. It certainly was a buzzing town and it took a while to find anywhere to park. We wandered through the nineteenth century streets and found an Irish pub for a Hugo sized lunch. It felt like an old English town. We sat by a window upstairs which gave us a great view of the harbour and people watching opportunities. We asked about good shops and were directed to Maine Mall. Five miles outside of Portland the satnav told us to turn off on to an unmarked, unfinished road. After wandering if this really was the road it finally led to a vast mall full of very local looking people. We didn’t have high hopes of finding any 'typically' American stores but were pleasantly surprised to find an Abercrombie and American Eagle hidden amongst the JC Penney’s.
Having decided that morning to head south, we changed our minds and headed north again to Lake Winnie. It was a full two hours of fast toll road driving but worth every ounce of boredom. It was beautiful - if only we had started here a day earlier! We found a Fireside Inn on the outskirts of Laconia and being only the second set of guests in the place, were given a deluxe room for $90. The hotel had a Jacuzzi, pool and gym so we made the most of the afternoon using these. The road into Laconia was lined with fast food restaurants and Hugo fancied a pizza so choose Pizza Hut for some comfort food, before heading back to sample some of the vast collection of movies on our cable channels.

After a never-ending breakfast feast we headed back on the road. We had noticed a TJ Maxx before so popped in for some bargains. Not too long later we went past a queue of traffic and an outlet sign, where the words Ralph and Tommy jumped out at me. We couldn’t miss this so we turned around. A while later we immerged with quite a few bags and far less cash but certainly some incredible bargains (a RL beach dress I bought for $50 was selling in House of Fraser for £180!). We drove on through the New Hampshire lakes, an area I would definitely explore again. It was beautiful - the village of Tilton was surrounded by a mountain on one side and a river and creek on the other, and looked like a Victorian village in a time warp. We basically followed the river upstream into Vermont, driving past the Quechee Gauge again, before ascending on to the mountain, first past the lovely village of Woodstock and finally into Killington. We were staying at the Inn at the Six Mountains which was one of the nearer hotels to the slopes. A typical dark and cosy ski lodge with a huge double level roaring log fire in the entrance. We had a lovely large room with views looking out over the mountains.

We no longer needed the car and had arranged to drop it at their Rutland office. From the hotel we enquired about taxis but we thought the $45 quote was far too much so decided the drive there and then find one. The satnav was on and much to our surprise took us through the town and on into North Claredon, down a tiny long lane to where the airport drop off point was situated. Now, imagine a small airport. Now think one hundred times smaller still and you may be close to the size of Rutland airport. It was 5pm on a Sunday and nobody was around. The micro light aircrafts were parked and every door into the buildings were locked. Did we walk back, at least to the main road? We had no idea where we where or what to do and I could sense the newfound traveller in Hugo was diminishing fast. It took us a good fifteen minutes to find a payphone and call a taxi that said he would be there in twenty minutes. It took them forty, and cost us the same but at least we were no longer stranded. I really must use ‘Google street map’ next time.

We spent three mornings skiing in Killington. The resort wasn’t large and we had no idea how hard a double diamond was in comparison to a European slope so I refused to use them. By the end of the three days we had skied down everything else. We always headed back at lunchtime to sunbathe and use the hot tub, partly because we were bored of the slopes but mainly because the heat turned the slopes to pools of water and grass. Now, for a resort which claims to have one of the longest seasons and can run until May because of its advanced snow canon system, it doesn’t do very well maintaining the real snow. It didn’t really matter as it meant we could sample their DVD library and relax in the sun with a book.
We never ate lunch so we were absolutely starving by the evening. The hotel had a simple pub that we sampled twice, as well as a cheap night just buying a cooked chicken from a supermarket. We treated ourselves to a recommended Chinese called Yoshi Sushi on our last night - it was a bustling restaurant divided into sections dependant on which type of Asian food you were after. It was a delicious end to our Killington stop.

Six thirty the next morning came around far too quickly but the train at Rutland called. We were heading south, slowly. No wonder it only cost $60! It took two and a half hours to arrive at Albany, a far quicker drive, but at least we could sit back in the wide comfortable seats and watch New York State go by. The on train magazine plotted the journey and pinpointed various destinations along the route. We followed the Hudson River on the right for the entire journey, a journey full of beautiful bridges and grand houses.
Six hours later and we arrived at Penn Street Station, New York. We were staying with some friends so after a couple of attempts to find a cab large enough for ski's, we headed out of Manhattan to Sunnyside in Queens. I hadn’t quite been expecting that. Swallowing my snobbishness, it was a lovely house in a lovely area with stunning views of Manhattan. That evening we had our first Mexican. Not the Taco Bell I had aimed for at the beginning of the trip but a good proper Mexican called Arriba Arriba with lethal Mojitos!

The next morning with slightly fuzzed heads we ventured through Queens and found a little Polish bakery with the largest croissants I had ever seen. We then took the subway from South Station (recommended for fabulous views of Manhattan) to downtown Manhattan and took the ferry to Staten Island. The point of this trip was simply to get a free close up view of the Statue of Liberty so as soon as we stepped foot on the island, we did a U-turn and came back.
We had arranged to meet our friends for lunch in Little Italy so we only took the subway a couple of stops before getting off to wonder along Canal Street. The area had been recommended to us for its bustle and knocked off goods. Without admitting to being a complete Upper East side princess, it was not an enjoyable walk, battling bartering people and large crowds, and Hugo quickly turned into my bodyguard. We were glad to make it into Tribeca and then sun ourselves in a little urban park off Hester Mulberry Street before we met for lunch at a lovely Italian called Café Napoli. The food and service was great; big dishes full of fresh pasta. With stomachs bulging it was only fair to walk off the carbs and we made our way to the mid town, to O’Cassys between Madison and 5th avenue on 41st street to be precise. A lovely bar with loyal customers, strong cocktails, great beer and good food. Oh dear, NY was turning into a food holiday. Our lovely friends had managed to get us VIP tickets to the Empire State Building, a highly recommended move to anyone who can get their hands on them because you get to jump the incredibly long queues. We were up at the top at dusk so were lucky enough to see the incredible city in the day, through a sunset and the glistening lights of skyscrapers at night. I could have stayed for hours to watch the ant like taxis scurrying along the roads below but it was cold and we had a dinner with our hosts friends to attend. El Quijote was a renowned Spanish restaurant in the Chelsea district, with fabulous fish and steaks. It was expensive, especially because half of the group ordered the lobster, but it was a great evening and we really felt welcome. By the end of the evening we had invitations to stay at various other houses across America.

The next morning arrived far too quickly and to nurse our hangovers Di and I ventured to Orchid nail bar just across the bridge whilst the boys went to watch rugby at a local bar called The Courtyard. With beautiful nails, 5th Avenue called, so we went in search of some preppy brands and some bargains. With hands full with bags we needed a break and went to the King Cole bar in the five star Hotel St Regis, a glamorous dark wooded low lighted chandelier hotel popular with affluent New Yorkers.
That evening the boys were off to see the Rangers beat the Buffalo Sabres in a hockey match at Maddison Gardens. I wandered to Time Square to see if there was anything on at the theatre. The lights and bustle were incredible, not to mention the M&M chocolate store, but we were unsuccessful with cheap tickets - we came far too late in the day - so Di and I opted for the cinema. High from the gigantic carton of popcorn we ventured to a bar/restaurant on Elizabeth Street. Aptly named the Elizabeth. It was cool, it was glam, it was full of stunning people and it wasn’t the place to go if you had either a) just been to the cinema after a long day of shopping, or b) just been to a hockey match after a long day shopping. Feeling very underdressed and not at all Sex in the City we slouched in the corner of a comfy booth hoping not to be noticed. Elizabeth serves proper American food and I opted for a freshly made southern fried chicken and mash, washed down with signature cocktails. After a few of those I forgot about my attire and was happy dancing away on the dance floor in my flats.

With only twelve hours left in America I was still desperate to see the Upper East Side and Central Park so we took the metro to 72nd street and walked across 5th, Park and Madison admiring the Gossip Girl mansions, trying to spot all the houses used in films.
Central park was far bigger than I imagined, and hilly and wooded – Naively, I had thought it was a flat little green space! We walked around the boating lake to Strawberry Fields to see John Lennon's memorial and the apartment block his wife still lives in. Sadly it was mid-afternoon and our trip to the airport was calling. Our red eye flight heading straight to our office was ready to depart.

So did I succeed in changing my husband into a traveller? I asked him if he enjoyed it and he answered yes but said it had been too exhausting to be a holiday. I am not going to give up though; I am sure he will get used to it one day.

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