Filed under: NORTH AMERICA, Ohio, Pennsylvania, USA, West Virginia | Tags: cheap clothes, cheap furniture, cheap shoes, discounted clothes, Gabe's, Gabriel Brothers, Gabriel Brothers store, imperfect clothes, shopping in ohio, shopping in pa, shopping in wv
Your typical tourist delights him or herself in strip malls. This person loves kitschy figurines, Hawaiian prints, bad perfume, Celine Dion, and thinks they’re slumming it when they shop at T.J. Maxx or Marshall’s. That was probably the rudest, likely inaccurate, assessment I could conjure up after only three cups of coffee, but one hidden point rings true: your typical tourist doesn’t know about Gabriel Brothers–a deal-grabbing store that puts T.J. Maxx and Marshall’s to shame.
Growing up in Marietta, Ohio, an arm’s length from Pennsylvania and West Virginia, Gabriel Brothers was a super secret lifesaver for me and my siblings. Having a mother who clips coupons for already on-sale store-brand cereal, there wasn’t any shot in Hell that my sister and I would ever be allowed to order clothes from catalogs like Delia’s. Which was oh-so-cool back then. We’d drive the 30 minutes to Parkersburg, West Virginia and sneak into this giant store, cramming our carts with Delia’s shirts marked $1.00 a piece and our mouths with cherry ICEES and soft pretzels simultaneously. Mom always gave us a limit and we always knew we could go at least $20 over that limit. “Girls, I’m serious, you get $25 each” meant “Go ahead and pack your cart with $45 worth of shit each because for every dollar I spend, I’m saving ten.”
The trick to Gabe’s is this: you have to carefully look at your clothes. All clothes are rejects from a store/warehouse/factory, but not all rejects are bad. Sure, some will have gaping holes exposing your arm pits to all of your office, but more often than not, the size is simply marked incorrectly. Or a tag is missing. Etc. And they don’t just sell clothes. Home furnishings, shoes, toys, and snacks I’d be skeptical of also make the cut.
To this day, Gabe’s is a stop-point each and every time I find myself back in the homeland. Without Gabe’s, I’d be that creeper walking around the slick streets of Manhattan in men’s sweatpants and a Michigan hoodie. Which is exactly what I’m wearing right now…
By: Elizabeth Seward
Photos by: www.glazer.net, www.flickr.com (gwdexter)
Filed under: NORTH AMERICA, New York, USA | Tags: Hokkaido, hotels in New Paltz, Lodging in New Paltz, Minnewaska Lodge, Minnewaska State Park, New Paltz, New Paltz New York, New York City, New York getaways, places to stay in New Paltz, Sushi in New Paltz, Upstate New York
Escaping New York City is easier said than done. The city, for all its worth, is also a black hole of culture, routine, and routinely doing things that are cultural. Wind-blown faces of darkly clad, fast-walking, coffee-drinking, cigarette-smoking intellectuals ornament the city’s streets, and even though we often exclaim desires of conducting a mass exodus, arm in arm with the handful of actual friends we have in this city, the plan frequently fails, wrapped in an excuse. “You know I’d love to, but I have to work through the weekend.” or “Eh, the traffffffffic.” or “Well, what are we going to do there? I can sit in the park here too and without all the hassle.” No, Mr. Excuse-Maker. You cannot sit in a park in NYC and come home with the same feeling of content as you would from sitting in the woods upstate. You know, without homeless folks and tourists providing background music to your Saturday meditation.
Just a ten minute drive from New Paltz, New York, a cool little town only 90 miles or so upstate (that means a 1.5 hour drive or 2 hour bus ride on one of the Trailways buses that leaves every day from Port Authority), is the Minnewaska Lodge. And it is cool. The lodge sits adjacent to The Mohonk Reserve and it’s only a short distance from Minnewaska State Park. The astounding cliff views steal the show at this lodge (where can you get those in NYC?). They glisten beneath the sunrise while you eat the complimentary breakfast in the Great Room.
Our private deck off of our room definitely beat out the fire escape we have in Brooklyn. It was the only barrier between us and a field of fresh snow. The bed was the kind of bed you always hope for at a hotel: supremely comfortable. Eco-friendly toiletries draw attention to the lodge’s overall sense of duty to nature–to which it owes much of its success.
Dear New Yorkers: Do yourselves a favor and skip town for a couple of days to head up to the New Paltz area. While you’re there, eat at Hokkaido at 18 Church Street. Some of the best sushi I have ever had. And actually make this trip. You know, instead of just making a plan to make a plan.
By: Elizabeth Seward
Photos by: Ben Britz and Elizabeth Seward
Filed under: South Africa | Tags: AFRICA, Cape Town, Noordhoek, South Africa, visiting Africa
I lived in Chicago for 8 years. I love Chicago and the anonymity that a big city allows. But there are only so many times the “Hey Miss Universe” line will work on me before Mr. Friendly Homeless Guy gets nothing but words I would never say in front of my grandma. I’d eaten enough deep-dish pizza to clog my future children’s arteries. I was tired of being squeezed out the back end of the bus on frigid winter days. Change was necessary.
With very little effort my husband talked me into selling everything we own to move to Africa. Sounded good at the time. We plunked down in the tiny village of Noordhoek in South Africa and lived in a small shack in a horse paddock. In a horse paddock. We had to keep the door closed because “Ginger” had a non-mutual fascination with our neurotic Chihuahua, The Doon.
There, we discovered Chapman’s Peak Drive, as have thousands of other tourists over the years. But we know something they don’t know. The famous, cliff-side drive is closed during the winter-spring months (April-December) because of “falling boulders.”
Boulders-Schmoulders.
You walk up the steep road and step easily around the closed sign. You continue walking up the, winding, deserted, breathtaking road, every once in a while stopping to sit on a bench. Or a wall. Or a rock. From there you can watch the sun setting over one of the most beautiful natural beaches in South Africa. Trails lead up and down the mountain. Some have old steps, some are wooden-planked paths snaking through the trees down to the beach. Who uses these? Nobody.
You want to experience something very few people have? Pack a picnic and go sit on the edge of Africa for an evening. There are no cars here. No monitoring guards. It’s a sleepy, quiet place that you’ll never get over.
By: Heather Gauthier
Filed under: Hawaii, NORTH AMERICA, USA | Tags: Hawaii, Hawaii photos, ocean photo, rainbow in hawaii, rainbow over ocean, rainbow photo, Waikiki
By: Jason Baldwin
Filed under: NORTH AMERICA, Ohio, USA | Tags: Marietta, Marietta Ohio, Ohio River, river, River photo, sunset, sunset photo
By: Kevin Paskawych
Morgantown, West Virginia is best known for the university—WVU. Tailgate parties and ladies’ nights occupy Morgantown’s city center during the fall season—and truth be told, a huge chunk of the Morgantown population is owed to college students. But beyond the sports memorabilia exists am Appalachian town worth exploring…at least for a few days. Nature lovers can rejoice in the rolling hills surrounding the city, the river that snakes through the valleys, and the shining Cheat Lake only a few miles from one of my favorite hiking spots, Cooper’s Rock. There are shops for antique and vintage admirers, mom and pop music stores, coffee shops and music venues suitable for mid-sized touring bands, and thankfully there’s also a classy non-chain hotel sprawled out in front of the Monongahela River for your stay.
The Waterfront Place Hotel is, without a doubt, the place to stay while visiting Morgantown. But you might not have known that before reading this piece. Plenty of well-respected chain hotels with impressive star ratings tucked under their belts sit in the town. They fill up with visitors seeking a safe bet on a clean bed while the Waterfront Place Hotel is situated down by the river, only steps away from the bike-ready Rail Trail, not begging for any visitors—they’re not the begging kind.
Upon entering the lobby of the hotel, the prisms from the chandeliers and the smooth black of a grand piano catch my eye. Lavishly decorated from the get go, this hotel succeeds in immediately separating itself from the cookie cutter chain hotels sprinkled across the region.
I took the elevator up to the 11th floor and found my way to my room. Noticeably spacious, tasteful and minimalistic in design, and with a wall of a window allowing for a vast view of the river and hillside, I was without that feeling of gut-wrenching disappointment we all fear when unlocking the door to any unchartered hotel room territory. The bathroom was huge with a shower separate from the bath tub and the bed was unfathomably comfortable—which is exactly what I always expected from Tempurpedic beds based off of the commercials, but this was my first time sleeping in one. Parking in the garage next door is free for guests (you wouldn’t believe how many hotels don’t offer this…it’s ridiculous), the staff were polite, and scary movies combined with a pizza at this hotel was the perfect ending to my Halloween night in Morgantown. All in all: you should stay here if you visit Morgantown. And you should visit Morgantown.
By: Elizabeth Seward, Photos by: Ben Britz
Filed under: California, NORTH AMERICA, USA | Tags: bed and breakfast in Klamath, bed and breakfasts in northern california, California bed and breakfast, California inns, hotels in Klamath, inns in Klamath, inns in northern california, Klamath, Klamath California, northern california inns, redwood inns, requa inn
Before Northern California’s massive redwoods were protected, back when bad ass vagabonds sought bed and breakfasts rather than by mellow, middle-class tourists, the Requa Inn was the only comfortable resting place for travelers between Orick and Crescent City, California. Built in the late 1800s, the original Inn went down in flames almost a century ago—though it’s survived by an upright grand piano built in 1897, which was carried out of the place and allegedly tickled by locals watching the fire engulf their town. Like many settlements built on the strength of a burgeoning resource economy, it’s been some time since the town of Requa was plentiful. But since purchasing the Inn in 2002, Barb and Dave Gross have recreated something you can’t find anywhere nearby: a truly comfortable resting place.
The surroundings are tough to upstage: it’s just a few clicks away from trails through old growth forest off the famous 101, perched above the Klamath River estuary and the swashbuckling Pacific Ocean. The word Requa means “where the fresh water meets the salt water” in the local native tongue of the Yurok tribe—an easy moniker to grasp after hiking up to the lookout point to admire the glassy, pie-shaped berth that meets a long, thin finger of beach with waves crashing against its opposite side.
The Inn is built of solid redwood, and insulated with redwood sawdust—meaning that sound travels, so your seclusion comes paired with the muffled sounds of others seeking the same. However, the Inn holds no more than a couple dozen folks when full, which is enough to lay claim to being the largest B&B in Del Norte County. The decor adds to the cozy atmosphere: layers upon layers of antique furnishings and fixtures, from lampshades to picture frames to claw foot tubs to velvet cushions to ornate sofas. Every guest room has its own character and colour palate, ours being marked by creamy floral wallpaper, emerald ceiling tiles, a barely escapable plush bed, and a tall, dark and handsome vanity dresser. The hallways connecting the Inn’s 13 rooms and the walls throughout the place have all sorts of interesting photos to check out, many of them relics that impart the hotel’s history and some from the owners’ past travels.
The main floor of the Inn is divided into three common rooms joined by sprawling hardwood floors. A large, red brick mantle with a small fireplace dominates one end of the house, with plenty of seating space nearby to lose yourself in the overflowing library of paperbacks, board games and well-curated current magazines. On the other end of the building is a television and music room, featuring the aforementioned piano and a few guitars for guests to pluck away at. The middle room is where the action is in the a.m., as guests build made-to-order meals from organic eggs and meat, as well as fresh vegetables and fruit (sourced from farmers from Eureka to Crescent City in season). All three rooms overlook the Klamath River through large windows, many with active hummingbird feeders outside of them.
There’s plenty of goodwill under this roof as well. Take Hillary, a German Shepherd that was abandoned and then mauled by a black bear in 2008, who is glad to accompany your meanderings and has a surefire knack for sounding the bark alarm if black bears, mountain lions or less imposing mammals emerge from the bush. Barb and Dave also buy carbon credits from a Canadian business called The Carbon Farmer, they draw energy from renewable sources via Pacific Power’s Blue Sky Program, and they solar heat a portion of their water—which comes from a spring a few hundred feet uphill from the Inn.
The icing on this antiquated cake is a hot tub tucked away behind the house. It can be reserved by guests and/or used at any hour (if noise is kept in check, of course), with bathing suits optional—“It’s a California thing” explains the Inn’s literature.
It’s true: best of luck finding something quite like the Requa Inn anywhere else in the country.
By: Eric Rumble
Filed under: EUROPE, Germany | Tags: Cassiopeia, Cassiopeia Berlin, clubs in berlin, clubs in germany, night clubs in berlin, performance art in berlin, skating in Berlin, skating in germany
Cassiopeia, a combination nightclub/skatepark/performance space in Berlin, is a standing proof that childhood pipe dreams can actually be realized.
I was probably around 8 years old when I first heard about the Make-A-Wish foundation. My response was probably similar to any other healthy kid who heard about the concept for the first time: I spent the entire afternoon fantasizing about the idea of having one of my many childhood dreams fulfilled. To me, the whole idea of terminal illness seemed irrelevant, so I was much more focused on the wish than on the thought of chemotherapy or having to do my math homework in a hospital bed. My list of wishes was extensive: I wanted a pet snow leopard, a motorcycle that I could ride on water, and especially to be a member of the X-Men. Though I would have gladly exchanged my health for any of these wishes, nothing was as enticing as my wish to have a membership to The Foot Clan’s central headquarters from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’m convinced that Cassiopeia in Berlin is the closest thing to The Foot’s Headquarters that I will ever be allowed to set foot into without having to steal a television to prove myself.
If punk rock mentality were radiation, everyone would grow an extra limb upon entering the grounds of Cassiopeia. Like many places in Berlin, Cassiopeia rose from the ashes of an Axis military hub—originally an old train station that was heavily bombed during WWII. This post cataclysmic aesthetic is something that Cassiopeia manages to keep very alive in every aspect of its property. The first thing that you will notice going into Cassiopeia is the lawless amount of street art that decorates every possible surface in the compound. Cassiopeia seems to be a very public scratching post for some of Berlin’s, and the world’s, best artists. If you are a young, up-and-coming street artist, I’d be willing to bet that you could develop some chops at Cassiopeia, and maybe even ask some of your favorite artists for some help.
The social epicenter of Cassiopeia is an old WWII warehouse that has been converted into the largest indoor skate park in Europe. As you approach the entrance, you’ll inevitably be introduced to the warehouse by attractive, cigarette-smoking hipsters standing outside the front door. Then, you will then enter a bar/café, which leads into the skate-park. Obviously, this is where the crux of my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comparison comes from. If you remember the scene in TMNT1 when you are first introduced to the Foot Hangout, you see teenagers skateboarding, spray-painting, smoking cigarettes, drinking booze, and practicing karate, all within about 28 seconds of screen-time. As you enter Cassiopeia’s old warehouse that holds the skating complex, it is likely that you will see all of the above—don’t hold me to the claim that you’ll see karate, but don’t be surprised if you do. In the Foot hangout, the hoodlums were skating on sort of quarter-pipe slalom. Unfortunately Cassiopeia lacks any such slalom, but it does have a 15-foot half-pipe and more than enough rails, boxes, stairs, etc. for you to destroy your entire facial structure on. I’m guessing that some of the best skaters in the world have done exactly this.
In the physical center of Cassiopeia, there is a giant bomb shelter that has been converted into a climbing wall and boulder like playground, analogous to the Foot’s martial arts training facility. It is also possibly the most punk rock thing that I’ve ever seen. Nothing says “fuck off” to the government more than climbing all over something that was once used for military defense. As is the standard protocol for Berlin, there is also a nice beer garden beside the skate park and climbing wall. Fitting metaphorically between the old bomb shelter and visible rubble from the war, it’s a good place to pretend you survived the apocalypse, and are living on a punk rock commune. If you are highly photosensitive, are a vampire, or just a dedicated hedonist, you can skip all of Cassiopeia’s daytime shenanigans and head straight for the nightclub. Though I can’t personally attest to the quality of the music, from asking around, Cassiopeia features quality dub-step, hip hop, electro, and minimal nights. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll even catch a “hip hop from 1990” night and really bring my TMNT analogy to life.
Even if you aren’t interested in the street scene that Cassiopeia is flooded with, it’s worth a visit. Apart from the fact that it is the embodiment of my childhood dream, Cassiopeia is a great example of a very unique and important aspect of Berliner culture. As I was watching people climbing the giant conical Nazi bomb shelter like children on a play set, I had a sudden sense of hopeful revelation. I was sitting at a picnic table, surrounded by slabs of broken concrete, and drinking a beer quite literally in the rubble of the aftermath of one of the worst tragedies the world has ever seen. Cassiopeia is the embodiment of the Berlin revival, a testament to the ingenuity and tenacity of those who brought about this rebirth in the face of destruction. And as far as achieving my childhood pipedreams, it’s a good start—the next step is finding that snow leopard.
By: Ben Majoy
Filed under: EUROPE, Germany | Tags: hostels in Berlin, hostels in Germany, nice hostels in Berlin, Pfefferbett
Berlin is the Romantic city of the 21st century. It’s the kind of city that when I walk around Friedrichshain or Kreuzberg, I feel like I could be in the movies (movies meaning films like Style Wars or Kids). It’s a lot like the city in the end product of Caden’s play in Charlie Kauffman’s new film, Synecdoche, NY, only except for the fact that his version is filled with depression and death and Berlin is filled with young artists riding banana bikes and punk rock kids with dogs (meaning = happiness). Actually, the only real similarity I suppose is that both Charlie Kauffman’s fake city and Berlin both really like vandalism. Even in that though, the Kauffman city is filled with the kind of “Bush sucks” and “Satan Rules” type of graffiti that looks stupid and in poor taste, and Berlin’s vandalism is some of the most impressive and interesting street art I’ve ever seen. As far as I’m concerned, the Berlin city government issues complimentary spray paint cans in the weekly mail and street art is a regular part of the high school curriculum. With this in mind, I expected my hostel, Pfefferbett, to look a lot less like a newly renovated and sparkling clean mariachi bar on the border of Mexico and Arizona than it actually does.
I walked into my hostel early. It wasn’t hard to find, being that it’s literally right in front of the Senfelderplatz subway station. I entered to see the bartender wiping down the green adobe bar–like the night had just ended and the last of the weekly salsa dancers were catching taxis home. If I remember correctly, Norah Jones was playing over the stereo system, but I am just going to round up and say that it was actually soft Spanish guitar playing bossa nova music, since later in the night, that was actually the case. I hold a series of assumptions in my mind about places like this. Pfefferbett, even if it’s only themed Southwestern in Berlin instead of being a genuine Mexican hometown favorite, has a certain specific Romantic appeal. It’s the same sentiment that I feel towards bars where I can imagine old New England fishing boat captains grabbing a pint after a long trip in the Atlantic, or old VFW’s in small Midwestern towns. It’s the idea that the regulars in places like this are probably filled with experiences of unnoticed heroism that I want to pretend actually happened to me. After I got the opportunity to wander around Pfefferbett for a little while, I quickly realized that the place was a lot less of a simulation Mexican bar where old masked wrestlers could happily drink Dos Equis and reflect on the golden years and a lot more of a very new and super nice hostel with a vaguely Southwestern décor.
My imagination didn’t get the memo though, so ever since I arrived at Pfefferbett, I’ve been putting everything in the context of me staying above a swanky lounge in Tijuana. This has gotten increasingly difficult as I started discovering all these technological conveniences that Pfefferbett offers. Obviously free wifi and accessible computers for guests falls into that category, but the real difficulties came from things like the magnetic locking system that Pfefferbett uses, the book lights attached to the nightstand above every bed, and the corridor lighting that is motion- activated. Old hometown Mexican bars probably didn’t have any of these perks, so maybe Pfefferbett is a little more like what a Southwestern themed bar would be like in Blade Runner. The sushi bar that Harrison Ford is in at the beginning of the movie probably also had motion-activated corridor lighting.
Later on, after I had already spent two days in Pfefferbett and had written around 2,000 words on the place, I was told by a staff member that it wasn’t actually supposed to be themed Southwestern at all, but rather the interior designer was trying to get the nature “inside”, since they have such a nice porch area and a sizable beer garden. Woops. My bad. To go along with the theme of a noir-esque Mexican style hostel, I wrote a story that I was going to work into my review of the place, as an example of what could happen if you stayed at Pfefferbett, based on the Mexican theme. It was an entirely fictitious story in first person, about me coming to Berlin as an undercover detective for the United States government to find the man who killed the German Ambassador. As the story unfolds, you see my discouragement with the fake cues that the Russians have been throwing me since they clearly murdered the man who was putting so much effort into uncovering the Russian plan to monopolize Eastern Oil Rigs and drive reassemble the Eastern Bloc by economic force. My marriage back home starts to crumble as my tenure in Germany is elongated and my mission becomes more and more complicated. At the point where I begin the story, I’m a regular at Pfefferbett; just a broken American cop who’s looking for a new place to spread his wings and has a sweet tooth for cheap whiskey. All of this is based on this fake romanticism that makes me feel like I’m in Casablanca when I’m in Pfefferbett. While I’m sitting at the adobe bar, a sweet girl sitting a few seats away talks me into having a cigarette out on the Veranda, which I reluctantly accept. Eventually I realize that it’s the ambassador’s daughter, looking for a man to replace her father, and we have a serious moment, which reinvigorates me to bring justice to Germany and the whole eastern world. If you want hints on how to waste time, my handsome readers, I’d be the one to ask.
I suppose that the idea of taking nature “inside” is the same principle as Southwestern design. People made their houses out of clay for a reason–probably the same reason that Pfefferbett made their bar out of imitation adobe. I suppose I should have been tipped off that it wasn’t themed that way when the hostel was actually super comfortable and clean instead of dirty and constantly smelling of taquitos and cheap mariachi guitarist cologne (which is how I imagined the bar in my story).
Regardless of my assumptions, Pfefferbett still has a slight Casablanca feel to it that makes me feel like I’m in an important place doing important things. I’m not sure why this is. It could be the antique style “hostel” sign lighting the brick warehouse that is Pfefferbett, the surprising luxury that is ordinarily beyond the realm of imagination in hostels, or the central location in an exciting Berlin neighborhood. It could also be because I have the imagination of a 4th grader who grew up watching Humphrey Bogart films. Last night, immediately after being told that Pfefferbett wasn’t actually supposed to be Southwestern themed, it started raining. In an act of an attempted liberation for my delusions about my detective story, I put on my wool trench coat, turned some Miles Davis up in the ear buds, and took a walk around the block. I don’t know what I was expecting, but nothing important happened. I just got wet and cold. I looked up at the “hostel” sign and thought to myself how affirming it would be if it started flickering. It didn’t. It’s too new. I walked inside and felt the sudden warmth and comfort of having a warm place to stay and a secure room to sleep in. I can’t imagine feeling as warm and comfortable walking into my pretend dive Tijuana motel. I took a shower and went to bed, where I slept without the stress of thinking that Mexican/German hookers could have died where I was sleeping. Despite my romantic delusions, I guess I actually prefer it this way.
By: Ben Majoy
Filed under: NORTH AMERICA, Pennsylvania, USA | Tags: Bed and breakfast, bed and breakfast in pittsburgh, countryside bed and breakfast, hotels in pittsburgh, sun and cricket, sun and cricket bed and breakfast
Straight out of a storybook, the Sun and Cricket bed and breakfast is tucked beneath crisp and colorful falling leaves on a private lane named after the owner, Tara. Tara stands outside of the carriage house with me at dusk detailing the development of the grounds over the years. Tara Lane lies on a recycled foundation. Her husband and co-owner, John, salvaged what he could use from the old Highway 80 while working in construction. And the couple’s pioneering resourcefulness doesn’t stop there. Tara motions to the tall white barn beside her black horses—a juxtaposing landscape imprinted in my memory. An Amish barn stood miles away years ago that provided the materials for this build. A dance hall for women, opened in the 1930’s, also contributes to the property’s structures where hand-collected rocks are woven together to form walls and libraries of audio books, evidence of Tara’s past life as an audio book reviewer, pop up frequently enough to make you wish you still had your old Walkman.
There are only two places to stay at Sun and Cricket: the fabulous log cabin suite, complete with a lofted bedroom, fireplace, and downstairs which can be rented for an additional fee or the cozy and charming carriage house suite at the far end of the grounds, also equipped with a fireplace.
There’s something uncharacteristically warm about Sun and Cricket, especially in an increasingly cold B&B industry wherein many B&Bs have become more concerned with achieving the stale hotel aesthetic than with continuing the long tradition of intimacy found only in a B&B. Feeling slightly under the weather, I wrapped myself up in the plush spare blankets on the carriage house bed, eating popcorn and sipping on hot chocolate—both of which are standard amenities to the room—along with dvds , audio books, wine glasses and dishware, and even a Checkers board with wooden red and green apple pieces (fitting since they have apple trees on the property).
In the morning, Tara does what I’ve yet to see at any other B&B: she offers a 3 course breakfast to guests, which comes at no additional cost. Sweet and spongy bread paired with coffee and cider prepared my senses for her mouth-watering baked Granny Smith apple which left me drooling just enough to ravenously devour her ‘Baked BLT’ when it was brought to the table (local bacon atop homemade bread with local eggs and cheese and homegrown tomatoes and herbs. One of the most delicious breakfast meals I have yet to try).
With 35 acres to its name, Sun and Cricket boasts hiking trails, horses for riding, an in-ground pool for use during warmer seasons, availability of a masseuse in room, beautiful countryside scenery—and all of this less than 20 miles outside of Pittsburgh’s boisterous downtown. Sun and Cricket is the perfect way to seclude yourself in nature while still in reach of the city.
By: Elizabeth Seward, Photos By: Ben Britz
