It’s possible that I—100 or so years late—have just discovered New England charm. I am in the most fanciful colonial hotel, and my room is larger than my apartment, which I realize isn’t saying much, but I have a nice sized 1-bedroom for Manhattan.
There’s a porcelain claw foot bathtub in my suite here, and I cannot wait to experience it. Not because I’m roughly six days past due on the bathing front (only kidding) but because I want to soak in the history (wow, that was terrible).
I’m humbled by this place.
(Ed Note: I imagine there’s not another journalist in the world who would first cover the restroom—I don’t take myself too seriously.)
