Autumn travel always feels like getting away with something.
When you’re a kid, fall is the worst time of year, because you have to go back to school, spending your days in soulless classrooms and your evenings doing boring homework. When you’re an adult, it’s the best, because the weather and scenery are at their glory, and you’re free to enjoy them, without the summer crowds.
I spent a couple of September days at my friend’s place in Rehoboth Beach before heading back to Massachusetts. The sky was clear; the air was crisp. The surf was high during our first morning beach walk.
One of our favorite beach lunches is a “burger-off”; we grill four burgers with four different cheeses and compare notes. This time the verdict was: The bleu and pimento were fabulous, with strong rich flavor atop the beef. The port wine was also good, a little creamier than the first two. The goat was the weak sister, not bad, just not quite flavorful enough to stand up to the char on the meat.
After a lazy afternoon in the living room, it was back to the beach for our usual supper of a cheese-salumi board.
The next day, after a walk along Rehoboth’s boardwalk, we realized that we hadn’t had lobster since our visit to Newport in April, so we drove to the waterfront Lobster Shanty on Fenwick Island, where the steamed lobsters are among the best I’ve had outside New England.
Then it was back to the beach to watch the foamy tide roll in under the pink sunset.
In the morning I headed back to my parents’ house. My days of homework may be behind me, but home care — with both its boredoms and its satisfactions — lives on.
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I fell in love with travel on a trip to Mexico when I was nine years old. Since then, I’ve travelled the globe from Israel to El Salvador. I’ve skied the Swiss Alps and hiked national parks like Acadia, Zion, Shenandoah, and Virgin Islands. I’ve marvelled at masterpieces in the Prado, the Uffizi, the Huntington, and the National Gallery of Art. I’ve stayed in a cabin on a mountaintop in Norway and on a kibbutz along the Sea of Galilee, and been kicked out of the Ritz at the Place Vendôme. I’ve taken cooking classes from New England to the Caribbean, and watched a chef prepare traditional shakshuka in the kitchen of his restaurant in Tel Aviv. I weave historical research and my personal experiences together in writing this blog. I hope you find it helpful. Read more …