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Highly Recommended: The Bluepoint Restaurant Duck, NC


At the sideyard bar, ask for Mr. Andy Mason.

Traveling, Light

I wish that I had photos to share with you of our recent trip to the utterly delightful city of Boston, MA. I left the camera in the back of a cab at the JFK library. Here are the highlights with help from Google Images.

Our hotel, the Park Plaza Towers, was originally called “The Statler Hotel” and was the first in the country to offer en suite bathrooms and a “radio in every room”. The bathrooms are small. Retrofitting can only do so much.

And I cannot recommend highly enough Mr. Gallagher, the Concierge. He is affable, knowledgeable and extremely efficient, handling multiple requests by phone and in person without skipping a beat. Thank you Mr. Gallagher, where ever you may be today.

The location is excellent. We were right across from Boston Public Gardens and within an easy stroll of the Commons.

The trolley tour, hop on and off, was the way to see the City. Especially when it poured rain Wednesday. Boston is a walker’s delight. And lunch was a very long, hot walk past Fenway Park to “The Eastern Standard“. A walk which was rewarded with “The Frobisher” cocktail, made with a homemade rosé Vermouth infused with lavender and herbs. Our server, Ryan, was delightful and the luncheon, superb.

A bit of a disappointment was Locke-Ober, that famous restaurant at which everyone who was anyone dined. As I’m reading george Frazier’s biography, I thought it fitting. Too expensive for what you get, but the ambiance is so very turn-of-the-(20th) century. A quick review of the notes from all you kind readers showed five alternatives that would have fit the bill. No pun intended. Of course, I forgot the printed notes and didn’t travel with the laptop as both Mrs. E. and I carried a single bag onto the short, direct hop from RIC. A quick text to Mr. W. and we heeded his recommendation for a night-cap at The Ritz. A fine choice. It was buzzing and fun.

We began Thursday morning with a short’ish walk past brownstones in various stages of renovation on Boston’s South End to Bobby of Boston. Which doesn’t open until noon. Ah well, probably for the best as I am in the market for a topper and there was precious little carry on space in the luggage. Lunch at Quincy Market, outside in 85º, no humidity, was fantastic. We basked and took in the tourists and locals who were (on-the-whole) a remarkably well-dressed lot. Especially the sun-dress clad women who navigated cobblestones in high heels with admirable aplomb.

The Oak Bar, with its “Proper Attire Required” (as ADG warned, I was the most properly attired man in the room and the women were swell-elegant in cocktail attire) was elegant, fairly empty, understaffed and just right for a last drink with Mrs. E.’s school year abroad friends after the impressively attended JKF Library reunion. Since there was no jazz to be found a The Oak Bar, the conversation held center stage.

We’d like to return one day, to do all those things that we left undone. If you get a chance, take it. Boston is a fine city.

I’ll leave you with an image taken this morning at 6:30. Which may explain the spotty posts and generally lax attitude this week.


(Taken with my new Casio Exilim, which was on sale at Target and isn’t nearly as cool as my lost Lumix… ciao for now.)

Riviera Style

Many thanks to LBT for the idea to address Riviera Style. A reader lives in Menton and may be able to give you a more recent and thorough examination of the local scene. Unless I get an offer to write the “Riviera Style” book. Here’s what I remember and how I did it anyway.

(Sara and Gerald Murphy in Antibes, 1926)

(DoctorMacro1.net the Annex.)

Things have changed a bit since the illustration and the photos above. These days Riviera style may be a bit more “global”. I imagine it is like Long Beach in California. Beach people are beach people. Yes, you sill still find a few striped sweaters (chic for women still), white shorts (cut along tennis short length), (Peter) Polo shirts, sweaters thrown around a man’s neck and a few espadrilles, but these are fashions favoured by the older population.

And me.

(Late last summer.)

(Reading the paper at the villa Lou Paradou.)

(Antibes, late 90’s?)

These days, however, you will see a lot more jeans, white (I bet) or blue, worn with dark or wildly coloured short-sleeved shirts and boat shoes. Those down from Paris for their annual holiday will be more fashionable, which isn’t always a good thing. I remember a lot of capri length trousers on men when Beckham was wearing them. Ugh.

You’ve heard that wearing shorts in Europe marks you as an American. Not anymore. Especially at the beach. Shorts (tailored, few cargos), t-shirts and trainers are all standard daywear. Women will break out sundresses for day, especially for work, but fresh jeans are just as likely. It depends on the temperature. Life at the beach is universally laid back. Dry cleaning is expensive.

I remember seeing one woman leave a bank in Nice, walk across the street to the beach, take off her sundress to reveal most of a bikini, lie down on the dress and sunbathe for her lunch break. Nice is a fine place to land. St Tropez, that famous playground of the rich, is really a fishing village with a nine month season. It’s pretty deserted during the winter holidays. At least it was when we visited during Christmas or after American Thanksgiving. It became famous, infamous perhaps, because it was anti-establishment, a place that catered to the party crowd where rock stars rubbed … elbows… with the yachties and groupies. Cannes has been glamorous since the 1960’s when the bikini clad starlets waiting to be discovered discovered the paparazzi. Riviera Cocktail, chronicles the transformation pretty well. Here’s a bit of street style from May.

F. Scott and Zelda tramped around our beach a bit. It was in St. Raphaël (or Fréjus) that she met her aviator. These days the twin towns are the destination vacations for Germans, a few English (there is an enclave somewhere; we met two at the Church library), and a lot of French. There were a lot of Africans, Algerians and other former colonials who sold trinkets to the tourists; I’m sure some of their kit was fashionable with the boho set. Hip hop had made in-roads and there were a lot of ball caps worn askew, gold chains, wallet chains, basketball sneakers and baggy shorts to be seen on the youth. Ludicrous. Of course, I can’t speak for the clientele at l’Hôtel du Cap.

The couple of times that we ventured out and visited nearby casinos, I was the only one in a sportcoat and tie, as I’d already surmised that a suit, much less a dinner jacket, would be out-of-place.

Off season everyone wore blue jeans, grey worsted or black trousers with loafers and open-necked dress shirts. The women were better dressed and always in heels. The older population, looking like extras from Central Casting, lounged around the pétanque courts, or shopped at the market on Saturday. Fishing boats still worked the water.

With the resurgence of classical menwear, I’d be curious to see if white linen suits, Bermuda shorts, loafers and buttondown shirts are de rigueur. Lily Pulitzer’s splashy motifs wouldn’t be out-of-place in the Mediterranean sunshine. There’s a local version for swimwear.

The Vilebrequin swim trunk was invented in St. Trop in 1971. The first pair was made from spinnaker canvas, which weathered well and dried fairly quickly. I’ve also heard that that first pair was made from a red and white checked tablecloth. At USD$165+, Vilebrequin is still the choice of the well-heeled crowd. These days they’re touting the father-son connection. The same designs come in jr. and sr. versions. At the same prices.

I may have mentioned it before, but it was during our last trip and we were in Antibes (former playground of the Murphy’s), eating at a marvelous restaurant called “Les Vieux Murs“. The place had recently been redone, but the view out that marvelous window was still there and so were some of the regulars. In through the doors that night walked a sliver maned millionaire. He must have been. Deeply tanned, longish silver hair, open necked blue and white butcher’s stripe shirt, cream trousers with side tabs and a pair of velvet embroidered slippers. He had slipped in on the tender to pick up a cold bottle of pop and a light supper. Whilst he didn’t leave with a laden hamper, neither did he take himself back to the boat. A crew member did. He could’ve taken the helicopter, I suppose, but where would he have set down?

When I think of Riviera style, he pops into my head. He was probably English.

Off to Beantown.

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