Not so recent poster - Photos from Colonial Williamsburg
The Golf Foxtrot and I are big fans of the 18th C and all things from it sans consumption and open sewers. I get misty when I sit down to a colonial table with pewter chargers, tankards of ale and rich Welsh Rarebit by candle light. It ain't the food at Grammercy Tavern but it's fine comfort food and it's a fun way to connect with the past.
I've seen a number of print and television ads for Colonial Williamsburg lately and I was reminded of a recent interview. I've been interviewed a lot recently and they're always the same. The journalist has the story written before we talk and they come to me for quotes to support their story. And they all bring up the hipsters in Williamsburg.
"Don't you just hate the whole hipster thing in Williamsburg?" they would ask me. And I kept wondering what the hell they were talking about. All I ever saw in Williamsburg were the reenactors. And bad ones at that. I thought there could be some attraction to the furniture making and pottery but never could I recall seeing a hipster in Williamsburg, VA.
I finally figured it out. But I love Williamsburg (Virginia not Brooklyn) and a few years ago the Golf Foxtrot and I started staying in their colonial houses. Not a hotel. But a private home on site complete with working fireplaces and a built in romantic factor thanks to four poster beds and naughty 18th C literature we brought from home with lots of rogering.
At night, open fires on the street are tended by reenactors who answer questions in and out of character. The wood pops and embers crack in the night sky and your clothes pick up the smell of smoke - - Only to be reminded of the smell later in the night when you pull your sweater off over your head. You have to call for someone to build your own fire but they arrive quickly and are polite and sense you want 'em out fast once the birch takes and ignites the oak above it. "Another tankard of ale m' lord?" the Golf Foxtrot asks.
It's so romantic you don't need Valentine's Day. It could be any day or night and isn't that the best way?
It will be readily evident to all that I never have never - - nor will I ever - - see a dime from the folks at Colonial Williamsburg. Dinner at the hotel is not what it used to be. Chownings went from a charming restaurant to a snack bar. The visitors are more Disney than delft.
Even the pottery barn, a favorite growing up, has been reduced to a tourist trap with South West Indian art and black light paintings. Oh, it breaks the heart and easily depresses. But grab a bottle of cheap port on the way back to your lodgings, have your fire built, hear your floor boards creak as you make your way to the bedroom upstairs with a candle and all the bad goes away very quickly as you reenact a little history of your own.