That little jewel of a town burrowed deep in the bosom of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
That’s the one.
The very same one you’ll be headed to, say, right around February 14.
Because now you live in a world with The Windsor, a new leisuring arrangement (some have gone so far as to call it a “hotel”) housed in a building that dates back to 1907, now open in downtown Asheville. (Here’s the slideshow.)
You enter the lobby. You take it all in—the dark wood. The 100-year-old hardwood floors. The antiques meticulously plucked from France. Then you step over to the little farm table and check in. Time to meet your suite.
She’s a beauty, what with the open kitchen and dining area, full living room, Oriental rugs and large amounts of exposed brick. And since you’re officially the least stressed you’ve been in a while at this point, you probably don’t need a massage. Still, you’re getting one. Stay put, though. They come to you.
Then, when it’s time, it’s off to your reservation at Cúrate. It’s a nice little Spanish tapas spot nearby. Head downstairs, turn left, walk three to four minutes and you’re there.
That’s one way to justify a calf massage.