Nineteen Hundred Thirty-Something, 20 July 2012

        Peering out from beneath the tilted brim of her close-fitting hat, a slender young woman scanned the castle ballroom as she entered through its large doorway.  Heavy chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, and the shadows of dancers flickered over arched ceilings and towering Gothic columns.  Catching the newcomer's eye, a dapper gent in a snappy pinstripe vest and black patent shoes crossed the room toward her.  Her scarlet lips parted in a friendly smile, and with a little bow, the gentleman took her arm and they sailed across the gleaming dance floor together, swinging in step to the tooting of jaunty trumpets and the swaying song of saxophones.

        Later that evening, after dance and laughter, the young woman said goodnight and ascended to the castle's fourth floor with a cup of hot tea.  She stepped softly over lush Persian carpets lining the hallways, walking past quiet rows of dark wooden doors.  With a click of her metal key, she unlocked her door and entered the small room.  Before drawing a mineral salts bath, she leaned out her window one last time and looked down at the softly-lit, plant-covered terrace below.   She could still hear music floating through the ballroom's open doors, and sighing happily, she latched the window and swished the flowered curtains closed.

        When at last ready for sleep, she eased into a small bed layered with white linens.  The bed's springs creaked underneath her, but were still as she leaned back into a pile of pillows.  She dropped off into a peaceful sleep.

        In the middle of the night, she awoke with a jolt.   The music below had stopped and all was quiet, but she was sure she had heard her children knocking on the door.  The knocking must have been a dream—or perhaps a door closing down the hall—because her kids were seventy-five miles away.  Jay slept quietly in the small bed next to her, and she snuggled back down under the white linens.  A glance at the time on her iPod showed she still had hours to sleep until breakfast, so she closed her eyes again and let the memory of the evening's dance steps sway her back to sleep.

And that, my friends, is a true description of the first evening of our hubby-wife getaway!  Okay, so I left out a few details—like the fact that Jay was the gent in the pin stripes—and I skipped over a portion of the evening—when Jay and I sat on the plant-covered terrace and played Scrabble on a table-sized board—but everything I described is factual.

Plant-covered terrace: The view from our 4th-story bathroom window!

Yes, we stayed in an historic hotel (the architect called it a “little castle”) for two nights this week.  It was built in 1930, and they have kept the décor true to the period, even down to the original steam radiators in the rooms and fresh flower arrangements on every breakfast table.  On Wednesday night, the two of us dressed up to match the era (I with tilted hat, scarlet lipstick, and frock; Jay with vest, patent black shoes, and fedora) and joined a Lindy Hop dance class.  The big band music was broadcast via mp3 (I didn't say above that it wasn't), but it was still a hoot.  We really did feel as though we had stepped back in time!  I also stepped on some toes during the course of the Lindy class, but I think I was forgiven because of my darling hat.  Or maybe because of the scarlet lipstick.

The hat's the thing

The hotel provided a packet of mineral salts to go with the tub

Because historic hotels tend to be in places without much parking, we parked our car a few miles away and used public transportation to reach the hotel.  So for two days we spent time walking around the old town, discovering restaurants and brick churches; we sat on antique chairs with computer or book in hand; we wandered through the lush gardens tucked around the hotel; and generally drank in the aura of classy history.  (Not to be confused with unclassy history, multiple examples of which I will not cite here.)

Views from the Breakfast Room windows

 

As you can see from how I've rambled on about it, we had a truly lovely time!  Our seventy-five-mile-away children had a fantastic time with their papa, too.  In fact, they didn't want to leave him when it was time to come home tonight, and I was tempted for a moment to turn around back to castleland and leave them there longer.  But tomorrow is Z's birthday, and we wouldn't want to miss that—shaded terrace notwithstanding—so we came home and brought the kids with us after all.


Tonight, perhaps instead of dreaming that the boys are knocking on the door, I'll dream that I'm a brilliant dancer, laughing my way through a castle ballroom.  And when I wake up tomorrow morning, it will be real-life birthday time, which has a fairytale quality all its own.