Filtered to Washington, DC. Switch origins below. Showing train and drive trips only.
9 picks across the catalog.
Old streets, new restaurants, the kind of walking that earns dinner.
Sand, oysters, the kind of porch where the day just goes.
A Victorian beach town at the tip of New Jersey that never went corporate. Wide porches, painted gingerbread, a beach that empties out by 5pm. Three nights gets you past the Painted Ladies walking tour and into the version of Cape May where you pick one restaurant and go back twice.
Three nights at the Jersey Shore town that doesn't feel like the Jersey Shore. Victorian gingerbread houses, a beach that doesn't have a boardwalk, and a downtown where the restaurants close in January because the chefs actually care. Stay at Congress Hall, eat dinner at 8pm at Peter Shields, bike to Sunset Beach on Sunday morning.
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The Gilded Age mansions are there year-round, but the town belongs to you after Columbus Day. Cliff Walk without the crowds, oysters at a corner bar that's been shucking since 1989, a harbor-view hotel that drops its rates when the yachts leave.
Trees, trails, fires, fewer people. The cabin kind of weekend.
Drafted by our agent, kept on the list when they hold up. Labeled honestly.
Two hours east of San Diego into a desert town that got modernism right the first time. Mid-century houses that photograph themselves, a tram that takes you 8,000 feet up in twelve minutes, and hotel pools designed by people who understood that water in the desert is the whole point.
Two hours down I-24, you walk into a city that rebuilt itself around a riverfront and the kind of downtown people actually want to be in after dark. The Tennessee Aquarium isn't the point — the point is St. John's for dinner, the Walnut Street Bridge at sunset, and a hotel in the Southside that used to be a Coca-Cola bottling plant.
A mountain town that traded its hippie reputation for a restaurant scene worth the drive. Three nights in a neighborhood that isn't downtown, mornings at High Five Coffee, dinner at Cúrate where the gin and tonic comes with a proper pour. The Blue Ridge Parkway is there if you want it, but the trip works without leaving city limits.
A box canyon at the end of the road with a ski town that never sold out. Main Street fits eight blocks between two cliffs, the gondola's free, and the après scene peaks at 4pm before everyone goes home to cook. Four nights gets you past the first day's altitude headache and into the rhythm of a place that closes half its restaurants on Tuesdays because it can.
Gilded Age mansions on a cliff walk, oysters that cost what they should, and a harbor town that earned its reputation before Instagram. Two nights gets you past the Breakers selfie line and into the Newport that sailors and old money still recognize.
Four hours through the Smokies to a mountain town that figured out beer and breakfast before the rest of the South caught up. Two nights gets you the Biltmore if you want it, the breweries if you don't, and a Sunday morning drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway when it's still yours.
A Victorian beach town at the tip of New Jersey that never went corporate. Wide porches, painted gingerbread, a beach that empties out by 5pm. Three nights gets you past the Painted Ladies walking tour and into the version of Cape May where you pick one restaurant and go back twice.
Three nights at the Jersey Shore town that doesn't feel like the Jersey Shore. Victorian gingerbread houses, a beach that doesn't have a boardwalk, and a downtown where the restaurants close in January because the chefs actually care. Stay at Congress Hall, eat dinner at 8pm at Peter Shields, bike to Sunset Beach on Sunday morning.
The Gilded Age mansions are there year-round, but the town belongs to you after Columbus Day. Cliff Walk without the crowds, oysters at a corner bar that's been shucking since 1989, a harbor-view hotel that drops its rates when the yachts leave.
