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Stokehouse St. Kilda

August 8, 2019 | News | No Comments

8th Aug 2019

Less than a half hour drive from the Melbourne CBD, overlooking an uninterrupted view of the sea, Stokehouse St. Kilda exudes romance with its vibrant setting. For those wishing for a beach wedding without the sand and general messiness, this venue may tick all your boxes.

Everything about Stokehouse’s concept is committed to delivering a relaxed, yet modern aesthetic. The building features custom mirrors, angled perfectly throughout the dining room to ensure guests from any stretch of the room can enjoy the views of St. Kilda Beach and Port Phillip Bay. A feature glass lighting installation highlights the stunning, beach-inspired interior, which includes a holiday-inspired colour palette and timber-lined floors and walls.

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Stokehouse St. Kilda is flexible in its options for private events. The dining room, terrace and Stokebar have the capacity to host approximately 270 guests. With its high-ceilinged windows, wooden rails, picturesque views and iconic design details, such as the Arne Jacobson Series 7 dining chair, this space is the perfect backdrop for any wedding. The Palm Room is another impressive space for smaller wedding parties. Sheer, pastel curtains frame wide windows which overlook the bay, and the location boasts a palm-lined beach promenade, allowing guests a chance to unwind.

Stokehouse St. Kilda is also renowned for its award-winning menu and wine list, curated by head chef Ollie Hansford and group sommelier Gavin Cremming. The menus, which focus primarily on seafood, work to incorporate produce from local growers, as well as native Australian ingredients. The selection of wine is continuously evolving, and chosen carefully to harmonise with the seasonal flavours from the kitchen. Patrons can choose from a curated package or create a bespoke arrangement for their events.

On top of the panoramic views of the surrounding bay and the ambient sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the team at Stokehouse St. Kilda are committed to providing you with a memorable experience. Their expertise is ensured to simplify the daunting wedding planning process and make your event one to remember for years to come. For more information, click here to browse the packages available ahead of your big day.

By GETAWAYTHEBERKSHIRES

The reason Norway’s Princess Mӓrtha Louise is dropping her “princess” title

August 8, 2019 | News | No Comments

8th Aug 2019

Recently, King Harald V and Queen Sonja’s daughter, Princess Mӓrtha Louise of Norway, came to the public’s attention for a very unlikely reason: the Norwegian royal posted a selfie with American wellness and entertainment royalty, Goop founder Gwyneth Paltrow, on her Instagram account.

In the caption, the 47-year-old gushed about how special meeting Her Royal Goopness was, calling her a “gift”. And while royals meeting celebrities is nothing new — Beyoncé and Jay-Z met Meghan Markle and Prince Harry recently at The Lion King movie premiere in London — the circumstances that brought Paltrow and Princess Mӓrtha Louise together make their meeting noteworthy and form part of the reason the royal has announced that she will be eschewing her princess title in some situations.

Princess Mӓrtha Louise and Paltrow met through the royal’s boyfriend, an American shaman called Durek Verrett (the shaman has been featured on Goop and Paltrow is reportedly a client of the self described “spiritual guide and gifted healer”). The royal has been on a speaking tour with the shaman, titled “The Princess and the Shaman”.

However, according to People the princess using her title for her work — which Vanity Fair noted includes a claim of being a clairvoyant — led to a discussion with her family about whether this was in line with the proper usage of her title.

People reports in a post on Instagram (which is in Norwegian but they have translated to English) Princess Mӓrtha Louise has announced that she will no longer use her princess title in a “commercial context”.

“There have been many discussions about my use of title in a commercial context lately. The fact that I used Princess in my title of my tour, I have said before that I am very sorry, and I still stand by that. The discussions are something I have taken seriously, and in collaboration with my family we have found that it is best that we make some changes,” the royal reportedly wrote. She added: “We have therefore jointly come to the conclusion that I use the title princess when I represent the Royal House, do my official assignments at home and abroad and in private contexts. From now on I will not use my princess title in a commercial context. That is, in all commercial contexts, I only use Mӓrtha Louise.”

According to Vanity Fair, the palace confirmed Princess Mӓrtha Louise eschewing her title for her work in a statement to a Norwegian newspaper. The princess has since set up a separate Instagram account, @martha.louise.intuitive, for her work and has already posted about her work on the account.

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Dakota Johnson has explained the missing gap in her teeth

August 8, 2019 | News | No Comments

8th Aug 2019

When Dakota Johnson walked the red carpet at the Los Angeles premiere of her new film, , keen-eyed fans noticed a slight change in her appearance.

Upon closer inspection, it looked as though the gap between her two front teeth had closed.

When the missing tooth gap news made headlines, fans took to social media to mourn the loss of the actress’s former tooth gap.

While one Twitter user tweeted, “this is the saddest I’ve even been”, another wrote that they were “crushed and heartbroken over the loss”.

And while Johnson, who is still reportedly dating Coldplay’s Chris Martin, shouldn’t have to explain the reason behind the closure of the gap to anyone, the reaction it garnered meant that when she appeared on last night, Fallon questioned her about its disappearance.

The star, who looked flawless in a black and pink tulle dress from Alexandre Vauthier’s most recent autumn/winter haute couture collection, explained to the talk show host that the closure of the gap wasn’t exactly intentional. In fact, it came about as a result of the removal of her retainer.

“I was having a lot of neck problems recently, so my orthodontist, she decided that it would be a good idea to take it off and see if my jaw expanded,” said Johnson. “It helped me, and my gap closed by itself.”

“As you grow as a human being, your skull expands and your jaw and your teeth move,” she continued. “Your teeth don’t look like they did when you were a baby.”

Johnson, who evidently loved the gap as much as her fans did considering she appeared in a video poking fun at just how much she could fit between her two front teeth, shared that she too is “sad” about its closure. “So I’d really appreciate some privacy in this time,” she added.

While the actress confirmed that the removal of her retainer has helped alleviate some of the pain in her neck, she shared that now, she has to “deal with a whole new world of problems, getting food stuck in my tooth. Because before it would just slide right through.”

Going on to admit that the recent headlines are “really stressing me out,” Johnson raised an extremely valid point when she questioned the newsworthiness of her orthodontic work. “The fact that this is a newsworthy event in our world right now is pretty sh-Chaka Khan to me,” she told Fallon.

By GETAWAYTHEBERKSHIRES

Everything to know about Formentera, Ibiza's untouched little sister

August 8, 2019 | News | No Comments

Often described as Ibiza’s hippy little sister, Formentera could not be further away from the throbbing nightclubs, crowded bars and mega hotels of its better-known sibling. Although it’s just four nautical miles from Ibiza, the smallest of the Spanish Balearic islands has no airport and strict regulations governing development meaning it is sought out by travellers looking for a slower pace. In the 1960s Formentera was a secret hideaway for stars like Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley and, in more recent times, Kate Moss and Leonardo DiCaprio have made the 30-minute pilgrimage by boat from Ibiza when they’ve grown tired of partying.

Just 30 kilometres long, Formentera is all craggy limestone cliffs, pristine sand, whitewashed towns and rustic beach shacks where you can order jug of mojito at dusk and join the crowds that gather at dusk to cheer as the sun dips into the sea. Expect to hear more “ than “ this might be a Spanish idyll but the Italians love Formentera and during the high season as much as 75 per cent of the population is Italian. You’ll want to hire a bike, a motorcycle or one of the ubiquitous Citroën convertible jeeps and hop from beach to beach – each a sliver of white sand with shallow, cerulean blue water – stopping somewhere for a lazy lunch along the way.

Gecko Beach Club
With an enviable sense of style that has been described as “Balearic-meets-Riveria” (think rustic wood tables, oversized cane lanterns and a blue-and-white theme) this boutique resort is hunkered in the dunes on Platja de Migjorn just 15 minutes drive from the port. As well as generous day-beds arranged around the pool (and loungers on the beach) the hotel’s yoga classes are popular with guests who seem focussed on indulgence and relaxation in equal measure. The rooms are not large but some have their own plunge pools. The beachfront restaurant is worth staying in for with extraordinary grilled octopus, sea bass and lobster stew and there’s an excellent poolside boutique selling delicate jewellery, woven bags, sandals and sunglasses by European designers such as Sophie Digard, Luna Llena and Star Mela.

EAT

Juan Y Andrea
Barefoot waiters dressed all in white serve platters of seafood and huge pans of paella to deeply-tanned European diners at tables right on the beach at this renowned restaurant. With its point-blank view of superyachts moored off Illetes, arguably the island’s best beach, this is the place to see and be seen. The fact that the menu includes three different Atlantic Lobster dishes – and waiters can be seen lugging around jeroboams of rosé and champagne –should be a clue that it’s not cheap, but whether you spend your time watching the people or the view you won’t be disappointed. Bookings essential.

DRINK

Beso Beach
Set back from the beach at Illetes, with its palm-canopy roof, mismatched tables and cane lanterns, Beso Beach is a highly-Instagrammable version of a beach shack or “chiringuito”. Order bucket-sized mojitos and Basque dishes, and when the sun sets, slip off your shoes and hit the sandy dance floor while the resident DJ stationed under a tree plays a mix of Nu Disco, Deep House and unrecognisable Spanish music that will cause people climb on the tables and dance.

SHOP

Sant Francesc Xavier
In the tiny capital of Sant Francesc Xavier you’ll find a surprising number of good design shops and boutiques. Mandana sells bikinis and sarongs by Copenhagen designer Beck Sonergaard and shoes from Italian brand Campomaggi; Koi sells everything hessian, cane and woven such as bags, placements and even shoes; Majoral sells delicate Mediterranean-inspired jewellery made with fair-mined gold and Te Doy La Luna sells chic childrenswear from European brands such as Tocoto Vintage and Rodia.

Hippie Market
Rediscover the island’s beatnik roots with a trip to the outdoor “Hippie Market”. It’s a long and windy road through thick pine forests to at El Pilar de la Mola, but since it is also Formentera’s highest point you’ll be rewarded with expansive views of the island along the way. Held on Wednesdays and Sundays during summer the market features jewellery, ceramics and leather goods designed by local artisans and live music.

Image credit: Instagram.com/serafintorrent

SWIM

Formentera has more unspoiled beaches than you can count. As well as Illetes, there is the six-kilometre-long Migjorn and Caló des Mort, a protected cove that is only accessible on foot. Rock jumping is popular here – ask a local for a safe spot to clamber up and then plunge into the sea.

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How the Trail of American White Supremacy Led to El Paso

August 8, 2019 | News | No Comments

A century ago this week, the city of Chicago, its air tinged with smoke, was conducting a body count. It had just endured eight days of arson and violence, which had claimed the lives of thirty-eight people—fifteen of them white, twenty-three of them black—including John Simpson, the sole police officer killed during the unrest. More than five hundred people were injured. Ostensibly, the violence began when Eugene Williams, a seventeen-year-old African-American, went swimming and rafting with his friends on Lake Michigan and drifted toward a part of the beach used only by whites. A white man named George Stauber began hurling stones at Williams, who eventually slipped beneath the water and drowned. Racial skirmishes broke out along the beach and spread across the city, lighting kindling that had been laid throughout the previous year. Thousands of black soldiers returning from the First World War competed against white workers for employment and housing. The veterans brought with them a renewed intolerance for discrimination, an attitude summarized in an editorial by W. E. B. Du Bois in the magazine The Crisis. “By the God of Heaven,” Du Bois wrote, “we are cowards and jackasses if now that the war is over, we do not marshal every ounce of our brain and brawn to fight a sterner, longer, more unbending battle against the forces of hell in our own land.” Other African-Americans, newly arrived migrants from the South, as part of what became known as the Great Migration, were viewed as interlopers whose willingness to work for low pay undercut the wages of white men. As the poet Eve Ewing notes in her searing collection “1919,” white Chicagoans attributed the violence to a “Negro invasion” of previously white enclaves. The world had been made safe for democracy; Chicago had not.

This past Saturday, the Chicago Race Riot of 1919 Commemoration Project held events across the city, including a bike tour and panel discussions, to memorialize the dead and to detail the legacy of that week of chaos and terror. The same day, fifteen hundred miles to the south, in El Paso, Texas, there was a different commemoration taking place, one more akin to a dramatic reënactment than a sombre reflection—the past climbing out from its shallow grave to place its claim on the present. Twenty-two people died at the hands of a man armed with a semi-automatic rifle and a list of grievances yellowed by a century of repetition. A manifesto believed to be written by the shooter cites the “Hispanic invasion of Texas”—a contortion of history if ever there was one—as a motive for the murders. Another section of that document offers a disclaimer meant to indemnify Donald Trump. “My ideology has not changed for several years,” it states. “My opinions on automation, immigration, and the rest predate Trump and his campaign for president.” This is notable, in the sense that unsolicited denials often sound like direct admissions. In the past month, Trump has urged four sitting members of Congress—Ilhan Omar, Ayanna Pressley, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Rashida Tlaib—all women of color, to “go back” to where they came from, and attacked a fifth representative, Elijah Cummings, an African-American, by claiming that his district is “disgusting,” rat-infested, and beneath human habitability. Trump followed that with a tweet appearing to jeer when Cummings reported that his home had been burglarized. The language of the alleged El Paso shooter’s screed bears resemblance to Trump’s rhetoric, particularly in the martial description of undocumented people as an “invasion.” If the immediate conversation in the aftermath of El Paso—and the massacre of nine people thirteen hours later, in Dayton, Ohio—has tended toward the accessibility of weapons of war in civilian life, the word “invasion” becomes even more telling. We are not, the killers seem to be telling us, living in peacetime. An AK-47 is a tool created to address enemy invasions.

Past New Yorker coverage of mass shootings and the battle over gun control.

In remarks delivered at the White House on Monday, Trump explicitly denounced white supremacy, just as he eventually did after first praising the “very fine people” at the “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville, two years ago this weekend. (He reverted to form a few months later by referring to Haiti and African countries as “shitholes.”) Just as he criticized people who chanted, about Ilhan Omar, “Send her back!,” at a rally three weeks ago. (He followed that by reversing that criticism and launching more racist tweets a week later.) Trump’s mindless belligerence, his perilous and ignorant world view, and, particularly, his use of inflammatory racist rhetoric are rightly seen as alarming. The Presidency is the most esteemed and powerful platform in the country, and it is reasonable to see a relationship between the President’s imprimatur and the ballistic bedlam that regularly erupts and targets people and groups for whom he has expressed contempt. Cesar Sayoc, who on Monday was sentenced to twenty years in prison for sending sixteen homemade pipe bombs to people whom he deemed enemies of the President, argued that his perspective was skewed by mental illness—and also by his obsessive admiration of Trump. This, for the record, is why people in public life are supposed to be mindful of their rhetoric. Their words reach a wide swath of the public, which has varying abilities to interpret their meaning and their nuance, or to parse what is said in earnest from what is meant facetiously. (Trump is particularly troublesome in this regard, as his most incendiary words are frequently explained away as humor lost on his uptight critics.)

The more difficult possibility is that the alleged shooter’s manifesto is truthful, and that there is no causal or suggestive link between his actions and Trump’s words. The Chicago riot of 1919 exists within a constellation of violence known as the Red Summer. Two dozen riots erupted in the summer and fall of that year, overwhelmingly targeting black people, particularly those who had migrated into urban areas in the North and the Midwest. In that pre-Internet age, there was no need for central coördination. In Elaine, Arkansas; Washington, D.C.; Omaha, Nebraska; Charleston, South Carolina; Wilmington, Delaware; Chicago, and elsewhere, mobs of whites, confronted with the possibility of black people gaining a share of the housing, employment, and democracy that they enjoyed, independently reached the same conclusion about the proper recourse. As the historian Linda Gordon points out in her book “The Second Coming of the KKK,” the Klan, which had become moribund at the end of the nineteenth century, was resurrected during that time, adopting a broader set of hatreds, adding Jews and immigrants to its enemies list. Racial charlatans such as the lawyer and eugenicist Madison Grant, who wrote “The Passing of the Great Race,” and the journalist Lothrop Stoddard, the author of “The Rising Tide of Color Against White World-Supremacy,” whipped up public fears that the white population was being subsumed in a tide of inferior bloodlines. Exclusionary, racist immigration laws were passed. And black people in cities were pursued and attacked, leaving an estimated two hundred and fifty fatalities. Invasions, after all, are to be met with overwhelming force.

Trump declared his Presidential campaign on June 16, 2015, citing the presence of Mexican rapists as part of his rationale. A day later, Dylann Roof killed nine black people in the basement of a church in Charleston, citing the threat of black rapists as his rationale. The former did not cause the latter—Roof, in fact, had been planning the attack for months. But Trump and Roof were responding to the same racial Zeitgeist, one in which the elevation of a black President meant that the value of whiteness had been correspondingly diminished. History, we’re told, repeats itself. But this phrasing has always troubled me, as if we are beholden to an inanimate application designed to produce similar situations again and again. A more precise assessment is that people respond in familiar ways to the same dynamics across time. There is no law mandating that our futures bear some familial resemblance to the worst of our present. Humans may learn from history. But we’ll invariably find ourselves locked in conflict with dangerous men intoxicated with their own sense of mission, and drunkenly believing that the only problem with the past is that we ever departed from it at all.

By GETAWAYTHEBERKSHIRES

3 reasons why Netflix’s Secret Obsession is so bad it’s good

August 7, 2019 | News | No Comments

In case you find yourself overwhelmed by the mass of award-winning content available to stream on Netflix, the platform has provided viewers with an alternative that, while we can’t promise is necessarily worthy of your time, is most certainly so bad, it’s actually good.

Enter Secret Obsession, a cheesy psychological thriller directed by Peter Sullivan, which just so happens to star The Suite Life of Zack and Cody’s Brenda Song as Jennifer, and Under the Dome’s Mike Vogel as Russell.

Considering the movie’s two-minute trailer managed to give away the film’s entire storyline long before it had even aired, it’s interesting to note that the Netflix Original now has the internet talking. As such, there’s no denying the streaming platform knew exactly what it was doing when it green-lighted the project, which has unsurprisingly left a trail of memes in its wake.

If you’ve gotten this far, then it’s safe to assume you’re at least a little tempted to set aside two hours of your precious time to watch Secret Obsession. For further convincing, read on to find out why the cringe-worthy, comical, and also somewhat creepy film is the perfect Friday night flick.

It is filled with clichés

Secret Obsession’s plot is ridiculously predicable. So predictable, you’ll likely think you’ve seen it before. If you’ve watched the trailer, then there’s no need to proceed with caution, because we’re not exactly letting you in on anything you don’t already know.

A woman has an accident that leaves her with amnesia, her husband takes her back to their home, and she later discovers that he isn’t actually her husband. There’s the token detective with a troubled past who repeatedly fails to call for backup, she has no family or friends to wonder where she’s disappeared to, and the home she’s being held hostage in is rather remote and lacking in mobile reception.

Ominous music predicts each and every twist and turn, the protagonist is alerted to multiple red flags that she continuously ignores, and viewers are left with countless questions at the conclusion of the film.

It is wildly unrealistic

One of the most entertaining features of the film is just how unrealistic it really is. First and foremost, how was Russell able to claim he was Jennifer’s husband without ever having to prove his identity or produce a form of identification? The doctors knew full well they couldn’t rely on Jennifer to identify the man, given that they had just diagnosed her with amnesia.

Russell later appeared at Jennifer’s side with a scrapbook that was so obviously photoshopped, it was almost painful to sit idly by while this fact was overlooked. Nonetheless, no one questioned its authenticity, and Jennifer was discharged from the hospital after an indeterminate amount of time and next to no rehab.

A number of smaller inconsistencies also served to drive home the ridiculousness of Secret Obsession. How was Jennifer able to break out of the bedroom using a bobby pin on multiple occasions? How was she able to guess that the password to Russell’s computer was her own name? And how was Detective Frank Page able to match one of Jennifer’s tattoos to her maiden name?

Comically, Russell decided to bury the only witness – a large man who he had managed to easily overpower and strangle in the front yard of a house lit up by street lamps, as a car alarm alerted the neighbours to his whereabouts – in the middle of his backyard. Not only was the mound of dirt that he was buried under not flush with the level of the ground, but it was also in plain view.

While Jennifer was able to yank her foot out of the chains that were used to tie her to the bed, she was unable to remember that emergency services are able to be called without mobile reception, and Russell was unable to catch her as she ran into the woods, despite her injury.

On top of the countless details that were overlooked above, the internet is in hysterics over just how fake the bodies of Jennifer’s parents looked, how large the mound of scrambled eggs Russell had served her for breakfast seemed, and just how many times he had disappeared to run errands, leaving her alone to snoop.

It purposely pokes fun at the thriller trope

As previously mentioned, it seems likely that Netflix produced Secret Obsession – a movie that is very much in the vein of those that typically air on the Lifetime channel – in an effort to emulate the success of numerous other low-budget, cringe-inducing films.

Reminiscent of The Princess Switch – a Christmas movie that was riddled with editing errors when Netflix premiered it last November – there is no doubt that Secret Obsession is purposely poking fun at the tropes of the film genre it falls under. Nevertheless, it’s most certainly a film worth watching if you’re prepared to laugh your way through the majority of it.

By GETAWAYTHEBERKSHIRES

Is this the most extravagant celebrity home on the market right now?

August 7, 2019 | News | No Comments

Gisele Bündchen with her children, Vivian and Benjamin Brady, in the organic vegetable garden of their Massachusetts home. Image credit: Instagram.com/gisele

With over 1,200 magazine covers, countless endorsement deals and a published memoir, Gisele Bündchen was the world’s highest-paid supermodel for 15 years. estimates her career earnings to be $721 million – which would make her the breadwinner of her family. Her athlete husband, quarterback star Tom Brady, has cleared less than half that over the course of his professional NFL career (coming in at $347 million).

Tom Brady cooking with his daughter, Vivian, in the kitchen of their Massachusetts home. Image credit: Instagram.com/gisele

Now, the poster couple for beautiful people are poised to add $58 million to their already eye-watering net worth; they have just listed their Massachusetts home for sale on the appropriately named real estate website, Castles Unlimited. But make no mistake, after it’s sold their real estate holdings will remain considerable – they own properties in New York state and the country of Armenia, as well as a stunning apartment in New York City.

Vivian and Benjamin decorating a Christmas tree in the living room of their Massachusetts home. Image credit: Instagram.com/gisele

The couple bought five acres of Massachusetts land for $6.6 million in 2013 and completed building the five-bedroom, seven-bathroom mansion currently for sale in 2015. The listing on Castles Unlimited confirms the circular driveway holds up to 20 vehicles and that the property is complete with a chef’s kitchen, pool, wine room, gym, spa and organic vegetable garden. There is also a barn-inspired guesthouse that doubles as a yoga studio, with “walls that open up for natural air circulation providing a Zen-like experience.” Everything a family home needs, of course.

An expansive pool is a key feature of the five-acre property. Image credit: Castles Unlimited

So why are they selling? Some have posited it’s because Brady just signed a new contract that gives him an $11 million pay rise, but given the family’s healthy finances, we’re sure the decision is based on more than money. The pair are rumoured to be looking for a new home in Connecticut or New Jersey. As well as Vivian and Benjamin, Brady’s children with Gisele, he also has another son, Jack, with his ex-girlfriend Bridget Moynahan. They live in New York City, so it’s possible he wants to be closer to his eldest son — but, like most modern celebrities, it could just be a matter of taste.

Scroll down for more photos of their extraordinary Massachusetts property.

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By GETAWAYTHEBERKSHIRES

Prince William and Kate Middleton are looking for new neighbours

August 7, 2019 | News | No Comments

Image credit: Getty Images

The house next door to Prince William and Kate Middleton is currently available to rent for $315 per week, according to Metro — but no, we’re not talking about Kensington Palace. The royal family of five also have a residence in Norfolk, called Anmer Hall, about two hours drive north from London which the Queen gave them as a wedding gift — and which they renovated to the tune of $2.7 million.

The Duchess of Cambridge with Prince Louis at the Chelsea Flower Show, 20 May 2019. Image credit: Matt Porteous for Kensington Palace

Anmer Hall is on the Queen’s Sandringham Estate, which is where she always spends Christmas with the family (and records her famous televised Christmas message). It is where the Duke and Duchess retreated after the birth of Princess Charlotte and where the photo for their 2018 Christmas card was taken. If they’re not in Kensington Palace, there’s a good chance Will and Kate are at Anmer Hall.

Prince Louis brandishes a stick while running away from his dad at the Chelsea Flower Show, 20 May 2019. Image credit: Matt Porteous for Kensington Palace

The rental is opposite Will and Kate’s place and is also part of the Sandringham Estate, which comprises 29 houses and 63 residents – almost all of whom work for the royals. The rental agents letting the cottage specialise in properties that neighbour royalty and list some stringent criteria for applicants on their website. For example, no cats. Ever. Don’t even think about it. Though, “Dogs will be considered on a house by house basis.” Presumably, Corgies are fine.

Prince George and Princess Charlotte dip their feet in a stream at the Chelsea Flower Show, 20 May 2019. Image credit: Matt Porteous for Kensington Palace

The rental agents will also not going be letting in any riff raff or royal gawkers, as “Properties are not let on a first come, first served basis, but rather on which prospective tenant is best suited to the property.” So that self-appointed town crier who rang a bell and yelled out the front of the hospital each time Kate gave birth is probably out.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Prince George and Prince Louis playing in the RHS Back to Nature Garden at the Chelsea Flower Show, 20 May 2019. Image credit: Matt Porteous for Kensington Palace

Not much is known about the cottage listed for rent, except that is has two bedrooms, steep stairs and the landlords would prefer to let it to someone who “lives and works locally” (ahem, for the royals). If interested, you can farewell your cat and fill out an application form here.

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Rebecca Caratti’s editor’s letter: September/October 2019

August 7, 2019 | News | No Comments

7th Aug 2019

This issue is intended to be a celebration of happiness — anything and everything that, in the words of Marie Kondo, can “spark joy”. We wanted to create a special edition that was light-hearted, filled with beautiful design, playful art and dreamy destinations — and I’m extremely proud of my talented team as we have achieved exactly what we set out to do.

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I do say this with a heavy heart as upon sending this issue to print we received the heartbreaking news that one of our beloved team members had tragically passed away. To her friends, family and colleagues, Bonnie Vaughan will forever be remembered as one of the kindest, most generous of people. Her smile, fierce intellect and her ability to charm everyone she touched will be her lasting legacy so, as a tribute to her, we dedicate this issue to our dear friend, closing with a piece she penned.

Be it through hard times or any sadness, we hope you can find something in these pages that sparks a little joy and cause for happiness — for yourselves and your loved ones.

For Bonnie.

By GETAWAYTHEBERKSHIRES

The Last Presidential Salmon

August 7, 2019 | News | No Comments

For almost a century, the first Atlantic salmon caught each season was delivered to the President of the United States. The first of these fish, an eleven-pound silver, was sent by Karl Andersen, a Norwegian house painter in Bangor, Maine, to President William Howard Taft, in 1912. Andersen had caught the fish in the Kenduskeag Stream, on April 1st, when the water would have been flush with ice, and cold enough to numb his legs. He used a pliant bamboo rod, and sent the fish as a gift from Bangor; he hoped it would “contribute to the city’s need of honor and respect.” (His bet didn’t pay off: Bangor is now best known as the model for Stephen King’s Derry—a fictional town populated by cannibalistic clowns and reanimated zombie pets.) On April 12th, he packed the salmon with straw and ice and placed it on an overnight train to the capital. Taft ate it poached whole, with cream sauce and a garnish of parsley.

The Kenduskeag, which in the language of the local Penobscot Nation means “eel weir place,” had long been famous for its salmon runs. But by the time Andersen landed his fish the salmon population was already in freefall. Hundreds of dams were installed on New England’s rivers during the industrial revolution, presenting unnavigable walls for the migratory fish. As early as the nineteenth century, the Penobscot begged the governor of Maine to address the falling salmon numbers, but the condition of the waterways only worsened. A 1960 report by the city’s health department claimed that Bangor was using “the same sewage treatment facilities as that given to the crewmen of Samuel de Champlain’s ship in 1604.” It described “sewage solids” accumulating on the Kenduskeag’s banks, children and animals playing in a mixture of feces and “thick green scum,” and, strangest of all, a city program that drew water from a particularly sewage-heavy section and sprayed it on I-95—apparently in an effort to control dust.

Andersen, whether wittingly or not, enshrined a local tradition. President Franklin Roosevelt accepted thirteen salmon—a record that no other President has come close to matching. The annual gifting continued through to Dwight Eisenhower’s Presidency, when the Penobscot River, which the Kenduskeag flows into, became so polluted that all fishing in the region paused for some years. In 1964, after fishing resumed, President Lyndon Johnson ate a fish from the Narraguagus River that had been sliced into steaks and poached in a French style. (For culinarily-inclined readers, the science writer Catherine Schmitt has catalogued almost all Presidential salmon meals in her book, “The President’s Salmon.”) But the salmon population continued to dwindle. Since 1986, no commercial fisherman has reported landing a wild Atlantic salmon.

In 1992, the final Presidential salmon, weighing nine and a half pounds, was caught by Claude Z. Westfall, a sixty-four-year-old fisherman, in the Penobscot River. (The following year, Westfall’s son caught what would have been the last salmon, but due to what Westfall cryptically called “politics” the fish was never delivered.) As the president of the Veazie Salmon Club, Westfall kept tabs on who fished on opening day and what they caught, so he knew that he was the first person to land a salmon that year. He kept the fish cool while he fished out the rest of the morning. When he got home, he slit its belly from gill to vent, reached inside, and pulled out its organs. Then he packed its cavity with ice and placed it in his freezer. Once frozen, a fish can be thawed only once before being eaten.

Most Presidential salmon were shipped to the White House, or occasionally hand-delivered by Maine politicians hoping to get a special audience. But Westfall refused to let anyone else deliver his fish. On May 25th, he and his wife, Rosemae, placed it in a cooler in the back seat of their car and drove three hours to the compound of President George H. W. Bush, in Kennebunkport. Security guards checked their car, their bodies, and finally disappeared into a shed with the fish. “I don’t know what they did with it,” Westfall said. Five minutes later, they returned with the fish and waved the couple through.

Claude and Rosemae spent the afternoon with the President and the First Lady. Bush was an avid Atlantic salmon angler himself and particularly loved fishing up north in Canada. While they spoke, Bush pointed out the Coast Guard cutters by the bay and the photos of state leaders that sat framed on his walls. After the visit, they kept in touch. At one point, Westfall—who had spent around sixty years fishing the rivers and streams of the northeastern U.S.—invited the President to join him on a trip in Maine. Bush, citing a busy schedule, respectfully declined. Today, one of Westfall’s most prized possessions is a photo of the four of them. In it, Westfall displays the glistening fish while the President and the First Lady smile at the camera. Rosemae points—mouth open in delight—at the Bush family’s two dogs, who are leaping at the salmon. “Not too many people get an opportunity like that,” Westfall said.

Bush was the last person to receive a Presidential fish. Eight years later, in 2000, Atlantic salmon were listed as endangered.

Fishermen call salmon “leapers” because, when they spawn, they leap out of the water and flash in the sun. I learned this in 2014, when I moved to Alaska. I sold salmon for a nonprofit and occasionally went out with the fishermen to catch the fish myself. I spent most of the trips throwing up over the side of the boat, but I learned to scan the horizon for jumping fish, because the sight of one would almost always mean many more below. Salmon are anadromous. They are born in freshwater; migrate hundreds of miles within the ocean, quickly adapting to salt water; and then return to their natal streams to spawn. They are muscled, powerful fish, and, if you’re lucky enough to see one at the start of its journey, the way it swims through rushing water takes your breath away. Salmon expend all of their energy on their upstream migration—they don’t eat—and the transition from cool salt water to warm freshwater physically stresses their system. Atlantic salmon can survive two or three spawning seasons, though many die after just one. Pacific salmon literally disintegrate in the water at the end of their journey.

Salmon are an indicator species: in a fracturing ecosystem, they’re among the first to die off. States across New England have spent the past half century trying to bring back the fish. They’ve dismantled dams, stocked fry, and instituted fishing regulations. Connecticut alone spent eight and a half million dollars over the past thirty-two years on restoring salmon, largely without success. The last significant wild population left in the continental United States is in Maine. (There are still scattered populations across North America—mostly in Canada.) Each year, Maine’s Department of Marine Resources and United States Fish and Wildlife Service stocks the rivers and streams with millions of salmon eggs and fry and thousands of parr and smolts. In 2018, only about a thousand seafaring salmon returned home.

Last spring, I visited Rory Saunders, a fisheries biologist for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), who grew up in Bangor and now works on restoring Atlantic salmon in Maine. When Saunders was growing up, several paper mills dumped polluted wastewater directly into rivers. Through the sixties, “paper mill sludge rafts” (floating collections of mill pollution and trash) regularly drifted down the Penobscot. He’d fish the stream and catch yellow perch or smallmouth bass—fish that, as he delicately put it, “aren’t very demanding of water quality.” He still remembers his parents scolding him for playing by the water. “We’d come back smelling like a sewer,” he told me. “Of course, things are a lot better now.” During the seventies, Bangor began cleaning up the Kenduskeag because of the Clean Water Act. The mills surrounding the city were prevented from dumping waste directly into the water, the city built a sewage-treatment plant, in 1968, and the river began to recover.

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