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Dad writes:
Phew, at last, we're out of New York. (Since we're now in a Hampton Inn on the outskirts of Groton, Connecticut, some would query the use of the words "Phew" and "at last" in that sentence, but what I've seen of Groton, Connecticut, I like.)
We left this morning and spent most of the day driving along the length of Long Island, an island which is aptly named.Actually, it might be even better named "shopping mall island," because my goodness we drove past a lot of them.Or maybe "suburban and not very charming island."Anyway, when you get far enough east it becomes more interesting.In the south-east there are the fantastically upmarket Hamptons and the object of our quest, the home of Chloe's favourite TV chef Ina Garten, the self-styled Barefoot Contessa.
And after we'd taken some pictures (one shown here) and peered over her garden hedge for a bit we looped round to the north-east, which is a) prettier and b) the location of the port from which the ferries make the 80-minute journey to Groton.
We've been out to eat, at a surprisingly OK Italian-ish restaurant called Olio nestling in the junction between two or three motorways, and now we're back here feeling surprisingly tired considering we haven't really done very much.
On which note, I'm going to have a bath.
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