A bit over a week ago I returned from a summer holiday (or vacation if you must) squeezed right in at the end of summer, designed to make the most of the last few drops of warmth and sunshine we're likely to get. The timing was smart, in that it encompassed Labor Day to make the most of a whole extra free day off, and really stupid, in that months of no proper break stretched my nerves to breaking point and my temper to boiling point. H1 and I agreed that mostly it was smart, and we may do the same next year. We also agreed that we'd get away earlier in the summer for a few days extra. Everybody wins.
So the holiday was amazing, of course, even if it wasn't quite what we intended. We did our favorite city/relax divide, spending a few days in Boston before moving onto the main business of a week in Cape Cod. We'd thought we'd be highly active, and planned on renting bikes, and kayaks, and playing tennis, and sailing...we did none of it. Well, we played tennis. Once. The rest of the time, we lay by the pool, lay on the beach, lay in bed catching up on our massive sleep debt, only reluctantly sitting up straight to eat and drink.
We stayed in amazing places in both locations, something I can't recommend enough if you're planning a lazy holiday (and even if you're planning a sporty holiday that could well turn into a lazy one). The hotel in Boston was lovely and I approved greatly of the fancy soaps (if I'm going to shell out hundreds of dollars to stay with you, the least you can do is give me Aveda stuff, right?), but you know, it was still a hotel. In Cape Cod, however...well.
We were in Hyannis, right on the marina, in a bed and breakfast/motel type of place - which sounds like some ghastly mash-up of chintz and floral and rooms by the hour, but hear me out. It had that gorgeous New England small town thing going on on the outside, but the rooms inside looked like -well, like a tasteful upscale hotel. Which is exactly how I want every place I stay in to look (bar my own or other people's homes). Too often, B&B owners try to inject 'personality', which then too often manifests as 'ghastly chintz mash-up with uncomfortable cheap mattresses to boot'.
We had within walking distance of us a couple of bars, a few good restaurants, including my favorite Spanky's Clam Shack (more for the name than the food, which was good but nothing too special), the hotel swimming pool, the sunroom (delightful, open space with comfortable wicker chairs and tables) and the library (a genuinely fabulous room of tall bookshelves and deep leather chairs in which we drank port and pretended we were rich).
In all, it was the perfect end to what has been, looking back, a pretty near perfect summer. Now a few more photos to make you all jealous let you share in the joy that is New England in late summer:
And I will bid adieu for now, as I've not been on holiday for long enough now that I have what is conservatively known as squoodles of work to get on with.