Designtripper

I’ve been to Toronto a few times in the last couple months, working on some projects and making a 24-hour run just to eat dinner in a different city. Sometimes a girl needs a change of scenery. Plus it’s only four hours from Detroit, and time flies when you’re reading magazines and knitting in the passenger seat (because your husband doesn’t think you’re a good driver). It’s like being on a flight with more leg room and no strangers.

During one of those quick visits, I nabbed a last-minute room at the Gladstone. I had stayed at the Drake before, but had only admired the Gladstone’s hulking brick building from the curb of West Queen West. Inside, art exhibits and makeshift galleries descend on public spaces and hallways, and each room is decorated by a different local artist. Considering the high-octane color palettes of many of the rooms, I was tickled with my room assignment, the dialed-back (soothing even?) Chinoiserie Room by Millie Chen. Subtle and not-so-subtle chinoiserie–decorative art based on mostly European imitations of Asian motifs–is layered and juxtaposed with abandon, and even though Millie’s approach is ironic, creating a kind of “Oriental folly” (her words, not mine) and poking fun at the “postmodern condition by replacing the true elements of chinoiserie with contemporary global references,” the room is as adorable as it is clever. Especially that wallpaper with monkey leopards, Baluch tigers, women in Victorian mourning gowns, dancing tourists and monkeys with saws. It makes me want to write a haiku.

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Welcome Beyond is one of my favorite vacation home booking sites. Based in Berlin, co-founders and brothers Chris and Oliver Laugsch find the most fantastic, tucked-away retreats for their superbly curated site. In really thoughtful owner interviews, they manage to suss out meaningful details that go well beyond the standard list of amenities. They understand that these places have stories. And that the owners have a desire to share those stories–from family legacies to passionate renovations–so the guest can more fully appreciate the experience of staying there. I relate to their approach so much that I listed Honor & Folly on their site, and for awhile, it was the only US-based listing. However, I was clicking around the other day, and discovered this beautiful addition: an old stone mill in the Hudson Valley.

Owned by Ariana Salvato, a designer and stylist based in New York City, the mill belonged to her father and mother–an architect and designer, respectively–who bought the historic, crumbling property when Ariana was a baby and spent a lifetime renovating it. “When I was growing up,” says Ariana, “there was always a table saw going and the sounds of hammer and nails. It was always a work in progress. Aside from my father being an architect, he was also an artist. It’s almost as though the house is the embodiment of his biggest art piece. There’s a sentimental and emotional connection. Everywhere I look, I see his work.”

Since inheriting the house, she hasn’t changed much, besides adding her collection of Catherine Holm Scandinavian enamelware from the ’60s and ’70s. Simple midcentury furnishings and her father’s artwork still hold aesthetic court. Ivy and moss creep down the sides of the rustic stone walls, helping it blend further into the green of the surrounding forest. It’s the kind of place you go to reconnect, cook a heady meal with friends and take long nature walks everyday. For those who need more entertainment, the mill is located near vineyards, farmer’s markets and antique shops, and less than an hour’s drive to a bunch of little towns along the Hudson River–Saugerties, Rhinebeck, Hudson.

The Details
Four bedrooms; sleeps up to nine people. Prices start around $3,000 for a week and go up depending on season (also available for weekend rentals). Not only a vacation rental, it also serves as an event and wedding space, and location for photo shoots (as seen in Elle). Rent it at welcomebeyond.com.

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After staying in a masseria this summer in Puglia, I’ve been thinking about how fun it would be to stay in a castle in Scotland or Ireland. The ultimate living fantasy, for anyone, like me, with two boys in serious long-running knight phases. Here’s the thing though: you can’t stay in a castle alone. That’s creepy, right? In all their turreted glory with proper keeps, lookout towers and torture chambers, they were built to protect royal types and their entire staff/community, as well as show off their wealth and power. Some of the smaller ones, relatively speaking, are at least–at least!–10 bedrooms gigantic and sleep 25-plus people. If you don’t want to travel with 20 of your closest friends, there’s the quainter version of a full-blown castle, a tower house– a single tower built for smaller land-owning lordships with five or six floors and similar architectural details and defense systems.

A 15th-century Gaelic tower house that has been exquisitely renovated, Ballyportry Castle seems like the optimal size for two families or an extended family. It spans six floors and six bedrooms, with beds dressed in Irish linens and wool blankets, pottery made on the way into town, and furniture that reflects the time of late medieval Ireland–”a time of hospitality, song and poetry.” Located in watchtower-viewing distance from the Burren, the five-acre property offers plenty of its own natural beauty. Thick with moss and lichen, the trees provide plenty of hiding spots for retreating knights, who might want to steal a few minutes from battle to admire the red barked cricket willow or try to spy a pine marten, swan or donkey known to pass by.

Here, a few more castles also on my radar:

>>This stone Scottish castle is as tasteful as they come. The exact right parts medieval, rustic, plaid and Scottish eccentricity.
>>Exquisite. And there’s an ivy-covered manor house next door.
>>Frillier than most, the super-grand Castle of Lisheen. This sucker sleeps 16 and has the most beautiful Trompe L’oeil-style vaulted ceiling in the drawing room.

The sponsor of this post, HomeAway, offers the world’s largest selection of vacation home rentals, which provide you more room to relax and added privacy (often for less than traditional hotel accommodations!). Make memories where you stay, not just where you go. HomeAway.com — stay together.

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In a recent story I wrote for the Guardian– 10 characterful hotels and B&Bs in the US – I tapped a contributor to guide me to an interesting spot in Northern California. Gemma and Andrew Ingalls have been to the Boonville Hotel three times, and Gemma assures me it is a tremendously lovely and worthy spot. Described as “a modern roadhouse,” the 15-room Boonville Hotel is situated two hours away from San Francisco in Anderson Valley, a laid-back wine region in Mendocino County known for bucking the posh pretences of Napa. Stay in one of their simply appointed rooms or spread out in a suite or standalone bungalow nestled in the garden, some of which have linen sofas, porches and hammocks. The cozy in-house farm-to-table restaurant is a destination in its own right (reservations-only). A recent menu, which changes daily, included prosciutto and melon, roast fig, local goat’s cheese, baked halibut, and late summer vegetable gratin, pea shoots and Pernod cream. While you’re in the area, make sure to taste the pinot noirs that the region is known for, take a hike through the Redwoods, and drive along the craggy mystical coast. It’s a real-deal family run affair, and relatives own the nearby Philo Apple Farm, responsible for more than 80 varieties on 30 beautiful acres and boasting a b&b/cottages/cooking classes on site. They also own the Farmhouse Mercantile downtown. Gemma and Andrew sent over some photographs of the hotel and the surrounding landscape, the latter a heart-stopping farm-meets-coastline combination of redwoods, rugged rocky cliffs over ocean, farmland, vineyards, orchard. Not sure it gets much better.

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After our Puglia/Civita trip this summer, we made a one-night stop in Rome before boarding the plane at Fiumicino. We snagged a last-minute booking at Arco dei Tolomei in the Trastevere neighborhood–the laid-back, old Jewish quarter–and what luck! I’m pretty sure we’ll never stay anywhere else in Rome. The owner-innkeeper Marco and his wife Gianna are the most hospitable and lovely hosts. And dapper. Marco is a true Italian gentleman, who wears button-down shirts under sweaters and looks absolutely dashing at all times. After insisting on walking to our car to help with bags, Marco shows us to our rooms–two super charming, floral bedrooms at the top of the stairs–and gives us a detailed rundown of the neighborhood (where to eat with kids, what to avoid), highlighting the route on our map with a ballpoint pen and offering historical tidbits along the way. Like the history of sampietrini (the smooth black cobblestones invented by Pope Sixtus V in the 16th century), or how water from an ancient aquaduct still serves the neighborhood–and it’s the best water around! Marco is very proud of this fact, which I verified often during our August stay. We followed local custom and filled our bottles from a stone fountain nearby.

Up until about ten years ago, Marco and his wife and daughter lived a few blocks away, but as the area grew more popular, it became too noisy. So they decided to rehab Marco’s longstanding family home, which has been in his family for more than 200 years, last serving as a college for graphic design. He insists the space was a disaster, but with every parquet floorboard, dark wooden beam, and wallpapered nook and cranny carefully restored, it’s hard to imagine anything less than its  current pristine condition. There are six bedrooms in the place, some with terraces that overlook a patchwork of terracotta rooftop tiles, leafy patios and narrow, winding cobblestone streets. There’s a sitting room, decorated with comfy velvet chairs, paintings and books stacked on every available surface, but the airy, sky blue dining room, where breakfast is served every morning, is the star. It’s where Marco holds court, entertaining everyone with stories about the old neighborhood (he’s lived here all his life), politics, culture and art. As guests drifted in periodically, we sat around the long, oval dining room table, blown away by the gorgeous spread of  breads, jam, pastries, meats, cheese and yogurt. They brought my little ones chocolate milk–hoorah!–and we felt more like special guests at someone’s home than travelers at a b&b.

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I know I’m not alone in feeling more creative and inspired when I get away. New places, new experiences make people see things differently. To think, feel and dream more. To quiet down and listen. Take me to a cabin in the woods, and after a couple days, my slower, more reflective self kicks in. Poetry, knitting, cooking, writing, building stuff with my kids from sticks. It’s the reason writers buy shacks in remote coastal towns, and artists create colonies in the country.

Most writers, painters, knitters, builders, bakers and craft-makers I know can’t afford their own creative refuges. So they seek quiet and solace and beauty where they can find it. Recently, I’ve been inspired by all the different types of creative retreats and residencies, art camps and travel workshops, from the extravagant SquamItalia to the humble and rustic, but no less impressive, Cabin-Time. So begins a new series: creative retreats.

Cabin-Time–”a roaming creative residency to remote places”–spent their third residency on the beautifully wild and rugged Rabbit Island, a remote 91-acre island off Michigan’s Keweenaw Peninsula in Lake Superior. In addition to chopping wood, setting up camp and cooking meals over the fire, they managed to find time to make all kinds of site-specific art, like a series of vinyl-cut prints that represent the last harvest of blueberries or the perfectly simple weather rock. Photos below, plus this awesome 12-minute mini documentary.

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Inside this magical town, a magical house. It was the reason for our trip–to see this storied beauty in person. I’ve been following Patrizio Fradiani’s rehab of his Civita cave house for the last six months, but no amount of architectural explanation or in-progress photos could prepare me for what it would feel like to be here–to look out the windows, flung open to views of clay rooftops, climbing ivy and a beautiful, crooked mess of cobblestones in one direction, and the vast, golden Tibor river valley in the other.

First, there’s the obvious: Every inch of this five-story stone palazetto built into the cliffside reads like an aesthetic dream–a contemporary rendering of good taste and architectural mastery steeped in deep, deep history. Modernist-leaning furniture is well-picked and well-placed (a white tulip-style table surrounded by mix-and-match white Magis and Panton chairs), but the space really sings when it comes to the highly personal, slightly eccentric layer of detail. Objects like twisted horn candleholders, antique trunks and a marionette ensemble are sparely, cleverly placed alongside artwork and installations Patrizio designed himself. In a series of small, arch-shaped cubbies in the circular stairway, he displays four sculptures he pieced together with dismembered porcelain doll parts and found objects. There’s the installation of 47 tiny bowls painted gold on the inside, and my favorite, a bright-green triptych made from dried mosses–as green as any I’ve ever seen alive–rocks and dirt, all arranged inside three wooden display boxes. I will very likely steal this idea someday.

Head downstairs, under stone archways, through cavernous Etruscan labyrinths that tunnel through tufa rock, and emerge in the most breathtaking terrace in Italy. We ate breakfast out here occasionally, under the wrought-iron pergola, but more often opting for early afternoon proseco, while our kiddos swam in the cave pool. The only pool in the entire town is secretly tucked into one of the Etruscan caves. It’s spectacular. There’s also a little lounge area, wine cellar and a secret art installation squirreled away in the depths of the caves.

The charming, ancient town is a magical, inextricable part of the experience. In many ways, the town–population 22 (200-something in the summertime), accessed only by a slender footbridge–is the experience. You don’t come to Domus Civita without wanting to come to Civita itself. One church, one square, a handful of restaurants (although we went to the same one almost every night) and countless stone alleyways, arches and ivy-covered walls. By the end of your stay, neighbors will recognize you at the cafe in the morning and you won’t get charged the tourist price for a cappuccino. You will pass your favorite restaurant owner on the bridge riding her scooter into town in the morning with her pink helmet, and she will wave. The night before she may have tousled your toddler’s hair or fetched a soccer ball for your kids, so they could play in the square while you finished your wine at the table. You will sit on the steps of the church with men who have been sitting on the same steps for the last 70 years. After a week, you will feel more comfortable than a tourist. Settled in. But just as enchanted as the day you arrived.

The Details
The three-bedroom house sleeps six, and there’s plenty of room to spread out and find privacy across four floors. Prices range from $2,950 (low season) to $4,950 (high season) for a week. Patrizio is the consummate host, providing amazing the best recommendations (better than most travel guides) and will help you line up in-home dinners and cooking lessons. Rent it at domuscivita.com.

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Aside from crumbling masseria, the other distinctive, vernacular structure you’ll notice dotting the Puglian landscape is the trulli– adorable little conical houses, stacked stone on stone without any cement or mortar. An architectural feat! They look like tiny gnome houses, and if there’s any truth to legend, their origin, which dates back to mid-1600s, is related to the very clever fact that owners could disassemble their homes in order to evade the taxman and quickly put them back together afterwards. In nearby Alberobello, where you can buy cheap keychains and miniature replicas but can’t get inside a real one, the trulli experience has been reduced to something of a tourist attraction. But people still live in trullo, and more and more folks from the north are buying and fixing them up as country homes.

The kindhearted Michela, who helps manage Villa Pizzorusso (in addition to teaching Italian at a school in Messagne), suggests we make dinner reservations with her uncle Tonino, a talented chef who recently took some time off from his job as a seasonal chef in Greece to put the finishing touches on three conical trullo about a half mile down the winding dirt country road from his own beautiful trulli. He and his charming, funny wife, Mariagrazia, have already hosted a few guests at the b&b, and Tonino has been taking dinner reservations from visitors who’d like to experience traditional Puglian cuisine. And for those not familiar with what that might entail, you’re in for a treat. I cannot imagine better ambassadors to the food or the culture.

Tonino usually hosts dinners or classes in the shared kitchen at the b&b, but on this night, they had already invited friends and family over for dinner at their home. After getting hopelessly lost, we arrive at dusk, and Mariagrazia suggests we take a walk–with a glass of Puglian rosso in hand–to check out their recently-finished b&b space while Tonino cooks. There’s still a hint of light left to guide our way through the grove, beside the ancient stone walls that snake along with the winding dirt paths. The entire scene feels nothing shy of a living fairytale: potted plants on steps, horses, lights strung in fruit trees, a sweet white pendant announcing the entrance, almonds drying on a blanket out back. My biggest regret is that I didn’t have the time or light to capture the experience better with my camera. I snapped a few ill-lit photos of the exterior and grounds, but you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. By the time we got back to their place, it’s the kind of dark that happens only in the country. Even though we come nearly face to face, I can hear but not see the donkey, who hangs out in the back by a dirt lane flanked by two parallel rows of regal old trees.

Our unlikely group sits outside around a big wooden table on the stone patio, and for people who have never met each other and don’t all speak the same language, it’s a boisterous and familiar affair. There are a couple cousins, and some neighbors from Rome–a photographer for National Geographic and a restoration architect who was recently assigned the ruins at Pompei–who help with translations from time to time. And the food! Tonino, the humble chef sits at the head of the table watching the faces of his contented guests, while Mariagrazia tells   stories and panfries perfect, just-picked squash blossoms on the outdoor stove top. More than six courses stretches over two and a half hours: almonds they cracked with a rock and roasted this morning; fava bean puree topped with shrimp; super-fresh eggplant and zucchini roasted and then drizzled with their own hand-pressed olive oil and mint; red peppers topped with toasty bread crumbs; bluefish that resembles anchovies or sardines but tastes like neither; silken pasta with fresh herbs, cheese and calamari; a famous slow food biscuit; and a hazelnut cheese loaf made with milk from their neighbors cows and drizzled with balsamic vinegar, which remains one of my favorite parts of the evening. They bring out a circular tray full of glass jars and vials filled with aged balsamic vinegar, a few up to 40 years old. It feels like the kind of special taste reserved for when a firstborn daughter announces she’s getting married, not for some stranger from Detroit. Hugs, scribbled emails and profuse thanks all around, I’m touched by how opening your home and sharing food can create an intimacy never found in a restaurant.

[Call +39 338 336 3610 to make reservations]

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When we arrived at Villa Pizzorusso, I was a little confused by the exterior color of the house–a no-excuses shade of amaranth pink that didn’t seem, at first, to fit the house. But after my first dusk between the rows of olive trees, twisted and giant, showing their age in their outstretched branches, I understood. Everything turns pink–the light, the land, the silvery leaves. I was lucky enough to take a couple bike rides through the groves during this magical time of day just before night, and I thought I’d share some of my photos of the countryside and even a few from within the walls of the masseria courtyard.

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In Puglia, the flat, silty landscape is dotted with crumbling, abandoned masserias–fortified farmhouse estates (that look more like castles than farmhouses, but there’s not a perfect translation in English), built by landowners more than 500 years ago to protect their farms from pillaging Greeks and Normans and countless other warring factions. Off country roads and highways, you can see the massive, regal-looking structures lording over the olive groves, fruit trees and grapevines. Once they were guarded, fortified with looming towers and giant stone walls, now lopsided and crumbling into disrepair. I imagine they were pretty expensive to keep up, after enemy warfare and  looting bandits were no longer a concern.

A few of them have been saved by the lucky, brave soul who takes on a daunting renovation, converting the old stone structures into agriturismo b&bs or vacation rentals. Villa Pizzorusso is one such example–a jaw-dropping, absolutely flawless example–that a San Francisco-based couple (one part Puglian native) bought six years ago and spent three years rehabbing. Parts of which date back to the 1500s, the main level, all stone arches, ancient rough-hewn stone floors and star-vaulted ceilings, retains a rustic simplicity despite being filled with pristine, modern furnishings like ivory horse-hair chairs and an extra-long dining room table made with a beautiful slab of buried teak wood from Bali. Ancient ceramics abound, stone-carved stairs have been worn away in the center from use, and most charmingly, an old olive press that was found in the living room when they bought it hangs above the fireplace. Upstairs, an owner’s wing was added in the early 1800s (the noble quarters), and the Moorish and neoclassical architectural details are far more extravagant: smooth colorful tiled floors, the faded remains of pastel frescos across ceilings, ornate wood-carved chandeliers, and beautiful antiques in every room to match. There’s a turret at each corner; once watchtowers, they’ve been turned into closets (and in one case, a shower), and views from every single window are unfathomably beautiful. Red soil, pink light and silvery green leaves, the agricultural landscape unfolds with vineyards, fields of grain and secolari, those magnificent, gnarled hundreds-of-years-old olive trees, planted in perfect pin-straight lines as far as the eye can see.

The place is over-the-top stunning inside and out, but we were happiest outside, and spent 90 percent of our waking hours in the courtyard, cooking in the 500-year-old outdoor oven, eating figs we picked right off the trees, swimming in the extra-long pool running along the fortress wall that flanks the citrus grove. There’s a dining table under a pergola, a hammock under the fig tree, lounge chairs around the pool, an outdoor living room with cushy furniture, and smaller tables with chairs scattered about. For anyone with kids, there cannot be  a more perfect spot in all of Italy (the photos don’t begin to do the scale or beauty of the place justice). They never tired of exploring, catching geckos or swimming in that long, rectangular pool (yes, even under the stars). One evening we took them out into the olive groves at dusk, and it felt like some kind of enchanted fairytale, where they could climb trees, scale old walls, create makeshift forts, and duck in and out of old, empty outbuildings once used for storing fruit and olives, a blacksmith shop and additional sleeping quarters for farm workers. Although we fell pretty hard for Puglia, which is garnering a well-deserved reputation as a beautiful, more real/authentic (we didn’t see a single other American traveler) and reasonably priced alternative to Tuscany, it was difficult to leave Villa Pizzorusso to explore. I guess that’s the magic though–you really don’t need to.

The Details
Sleeps up to 14  across six bedrooms. Prices start at $5,135 during low season and $10,250/week during the high. Also included: two bikes, cleaning service and a wonderful welcome basket full of local specialties–wine, cheese, and taralli. Rent it at villapizzorusso.com or by emailing info@villapizzorusso.com.

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We’re in Italy right now. First Puglia, where we’re staying in a fortified masseria with citrus groves and walnut and persimmon trees growing in the courtyard. Then, we’ll travel up to Civita di Bagnoregio to stay in Patrizio’s just-finished cave house in the Etruscan town he calls one of the “most beautiful and noble places on earth.” His passion for this ancient place feels contagious and sincere, poetic even (“It has the appearance of being built from gold and silver – the gold of the Tufa rock in the cliffs and houses, the silver of its basalt paved streets.”), and I’m looking forward to sharing our experience when we get back in two weeks. Until then, some travel inspiration to keep you busy:

>> This interview with Australian photographer Sharyn Cairns. Her Cuba series is heart-gripping for those who like beautiful crumbling things.
>> The menu from the restaurant at this lodge in North Haven, Maine. Chef Amanda Hallowell uses food from the local farm, Turner Farm.
>> You haven’t seen the last of this Leelanau Peninsula historic b&b, Hillside Homestead. Would love to take a farm class.
>> A feature I contributed to in Food & Wine about the best places in Italy to stay/eat.
>>  This Herriot Grace film about Nikole’s dad. I love the part where he talks about his cabin: “That is where my soul is. When I drive in that driveway, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.” That’s the truest form of getting-away-from-it-all travel.
>> These Anchorage finds from Matthew Hranek’s trip to Alaska.

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Travel notes from an expert: One of designtripper’s contributors, Ben Lambers (of Amsterdam’s Studio Aandacht), put together this rad little flow chart from his European design road trip. He and his wife and partner, Tatjana, were headed to the Salone Internazionale del Mobile in Milan, but their course could be cribbed any time of year. Highlights and hotel favorites include the Vitra Museum in Germany and Mama Shelter in Paris. Take notes.

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A couple weekends ago (breaking up the drive back from Maine) we stayed in Brooklyn artists Frantiska and Tim Gilman’s Catskills log cabin, and the place is an absolute dream — especially for people with kids. It rained much of the weekend, but it didn’t matter — our boys were as happy catching frogs in the pouring rain as they were playing board games at the big farmhouse table on the covered front porch. Our last night there, the weather cleared up and we made a fire in the fire pit, surrounded by tree-stump seats, while the boys waded through the stream until we lost the last bit of dappled sunlight streaming through the trees. There were roasted marshmallows and a sky full of stars.

I could go on ad nauseum about the grounds–a stream, three ponds, little trails through tall wildflowers brimming with butterflies, the best climbing tree in the whole-wide-world (direct quote from my six-year-old)–but the actual cabin was just as special. Frantiska refinished many of the well-worn antique furnishings herself, and the walls are covered in pieces that speak to their artistic leanings as well as tell stories about their history. They bought botany and biology posters from a man with a whole cellar full of them in a village in Czech Republic near the Polish border where Frantiska’s father grew up. And the stunning, oversized map in the living room was pieced together by her father who reproduced it from an old 18th-century map he found in the Prague library where he worked as the curator of contemporary art exhibitions. In the living room, an antique glass  cabinet is “our ‘wunderkammern,’ filled with birds nests we collect on the property, an ostrich egg, and the bits and pieces of porcelain and crystal services we get from local antique shops.”

They bought the place five years ago and over the years, they’ve replaced the roof, refinished the floors, reconstructed rotting porches, and installed a bathroom upstairs. But they were already working with some beautiful stock: The cabin was originally built using all local materials (red pine felled right on the property and hand-hewn), as well as reclaimed barn wood, which the original owner/builder got from disassembling barns. Other details–like the slabs of local bluestone for the fireplace, a bathroom floor made from reclaimed bricks from a kiln chimney, and a kitchen island countertop made from a barn door–add layer after layer of rustic character.

The Details
There are three bedrooms (sleeps up to eight), and it’s extremely kid-friendly. Prices start at $450 for a weekend. The town of Andes is adorable, with lots of little shops and cafes along the main drag, and the area is known for its amazing hiking trails. Rent it at vrbo.com.

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The Landmark Trust is a pretty amazing organization. It’s a preservation charity in the UK that rescues historic buildings at risk–including “follies,” castles, towers, cottages, and old mills–and turns them into holiday stays to help them survive. Sure, they’re already working with some pretty spectacular stock, but what I appreciate most is the creative approach they take with so many of the properties, blending the old with the new (and often bringing in artists and designers) in order to make it all work. Helen from Design Hunter sent over this newly renovated fortified manor called the Astley Castle (she attended the grand opening). Apparently, the history runs deep: the ancient moated site was entangled with the succession to the throne of England through Elizabeth Woodville (wife of Edward IV), Elizabeth of York (wife of Henry VII) and Lady Jane Grey during the 14th and 15th centuries–and it’s said to be the inspiration for Knebley in George Eliot’s Scenes of Clerical Life. During the second world war it was requisitioned for convalescing servicemen and it was later turned into a hotel before suffering fire damage in 1978 and falling into ruin.

After more than 30 years of abandonment and debate, The Landmark Trust worked with Witherford Watson Matts architecture firm to create a beautiful space that masterfully combines clean lines with crumbling brick. The detail that perhaps best exemplifies the aesthetic: looking out the huge windows of the super-slick modern kitchen, a crumbling interior courtyard formed by ruined spaces.

The Details
The four-bedroom manor sleeps eight. Price starts at $1,870 for a three-day weekend. No TV; gardens abound. Rent it at The Landmark Trust.

[Photos: by Design Hunter (all but second and fifth images) and courtesy of The Landmark Trust. Thanks, Helen!]

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