Back at No. 7, we spoiled ourselves with a slothful routine: Play cards in the yurt. Listen to waves on our deck. Count shooting stars from a grassy knoll. Repeat.
“Thus began our weekend of not-so-roughing it, coddled at a glorified campground where linens, bedding and breakfast were provided and communal bathrooms were more akin to an upscale athletic club (faux-stone tile, adjustable shower heads) than any state campground.”
“Much of the weekend we cocooned to our hearts’ content, unwinding in the absence of TV, Wi-Fi or cellphone service. We hung out in the cozy great room, warmed by its fireplace and view. I took a dip in the pool and hot tub, both heated year-round and ringed with a band of light that shifted colors like the illuminated towers at LAX.”
