The Hamptons — that string of farming towns along the south side of Long
Island’s lower jaw, which have now been recolonised by $40m second homes —
aren’t really in America. They just pretend during the summer.
When the season ends, and movie stars jump on a jet back west with the rap
daddies, models hitch a limo back to Manhattan with their sugar daddies, and
all of America’s really serious money gets packed up and taken off to play
elsewhere, the Hamptons return to their own un-American normality.
The (independent) bookshop in East Hampton sells bumper stickers saying
“Dissent is a patriotic act” and is staffed by people who delight in finding
you something they think you’ll enjoy reading. Cars stop to let you cross
the road. The famous beaches are just as fluffed and electrified by the
Hamptons’ pure sunlight, but now, instead of hosting a turf war between
rival gangs of Ralph Lauren stylists and frat-party beer boys, walkers stop
to say “hello”.
The fact that there’s anybody here at all, that there are even cars that stop,
or walkers coming in the opposite direction, is relatively new. They used to
call the day after Labor Day (the first Monday in September) Tumbleweed
Tuesday. Hotels that were full the day before closed, the restaurants put up
signs saying “See ya on May Day” and the movie theatre stuck brown paper
over its windows.
Then the BlackBerry arrived.
Now, nobody knows where you are and, hey, if you’ve just dropped $40m on a new
pad, wouldn’t it be kinda nice to use it for more than 12 weeks a year?
So the smart clothing stores are stocked year round, but you can get served.
The movie theatre’s all lit up and the best restaurants are open at least
from Thursday to Sunday. Now, not only can you get a room at the Maidstone
Arms in autumn, winter and spring, but, compared with summer prices, it’s a
steal.
If, like me, you’re unfortunate enough to have more sense than money, this is
the time to visit. Dan Johnson, a thirtysomething cultural refugee from
California, offered to show me some of the cool local hangouts. I didn’t
think our first stop would be PG Wodehouse’s grave. At least now I know what
the P and the G stand for. After that, we visited the old schoolhouse, with
its graffiti of giant whaling ships carved into the wooden walls. Later, he
slowed down as we passed the Quogue church: lifted off its foundations by
the great hurricane of 1938, it floated 300ft down the road without breaking
any of its Tiffany-made windows. This earthy history is the Hamptons’ real
charm, and its defence against the sneers of being just a rich person’s
mixing bowl. A few miles from the houses of the mega-rich, you’ll find
hundreds of acres of potatoes. Montauk Highway, all the way out to the
point, has been preserved by the locals as just one lane in each direction.
Each town along the way, from Southampton through Bridgehampton, East Hampton,
Amagansett and out to Montauk Point, has a couple of small restaurants, a
local store or two and some great antiques shops. They’re all subtly
different. Southampton is old money, and if Steve Gaines’s book, Philistines
at the Hedgerow, is to be trusted as much as it’s to be enjoyed, it is also
old bitchy money.
Take a drive down Meadow Lane, beside the beach, and you’ll pass Chestertown
House. At one time the biggest private renovation project in New York State,
its owners gave the rest of the town seizures by adding a kitchen, then
another kitchen for the catering staff, then a changing facility for the
catering staff. They also plonked on a master bedroom with sitting room and
his’n’hers exercise rooms, and a 60ft indoor saltwater aquarium and
waterfall. They finished it off by putting some oversized turrets on top.
All without a building permit. The owners were definitely not invited to
join the local beach club.
East Hampton, arranged around the village pond, is the heart of the old
pre-money Hamptons. Folk who can trace their family back eight generations
will turn up their noses at any new-moneyed arrivals, dismissing them with
the knife-in-the-back saying: “They’ve never even set foot inside the
Maidstone Arms.” Wherever you’re staying, it’s worth setting foot inside.
It’s a grand little house unlike any kind of inn or B&B you’ve
experienced in Maidstone or anywhere else in England, with roaring
fireplaces to fall asleep beside on the colder days and rooms stuffed full
of antiques you can buy if you become too attached to them.
The East Hampton Star is a weekly newspaper, published from a wood-panelled
office, that keeps you up to date with what’s going on, including details of
all police activity. The week before I arrived, it reported that one Sara
Pellit of Newtown Lane “feared there was an animal trapped in her closet and
called the police to investigate on Saturday at 8.06pm”.
The Ladies’ Village Improvement Society has its headquarters here too, and
does just what it says on the sign outside. They note and preserve the
area’s heritage and generally calm the town down by radiating good manners.
I have a feeling you could transport these ladies into my Cotswold village
and they’d feel right at home, talking with farmers’ wives and mending hems.
East Hampton is also the location of someone described as the most important
person in the Hamptons: Bonnie. She is the maître d’ at Nick &
Toni’s restaurant. I went to see what kind of person can control Manhattan’s
power-hungry elite during the season, and I was outraged. She was pleasant.
Nice. Decent. She says she instructs all her staff in the “no-attitude”
style of service before they can start working there, and it shows. The
place is intimate, with only 25 tables, a big wood-burning oven and red
tiles that give it a Tuscan feel. And, of course, the food was amazing.
Bonny told me her “1-2-3” of things to do in the Hamptons: go and look at the
beach, go up to the North Fork (the upper jaw of Long Island’s tip) because
it’s all starting to change up there and, of course, visit Nick &
Toni’s. If she can tell Spielberg where to sit, she can tell me where to go.
So I sampled my way through the wineries at North Fork and, the next
morning, visited the beach. I started on the eastern tip, out at Montauk
Point. The lighthouse here is set in a wildlife park, and the open land and
the two sides of the ocean crashing into each other give it a wild,
cleansing feel. As I stood up on the headland it was cloudy, but I could see
all the way back to East Hampton and some fine weather coming in.
By the time I got back to East Hampton, the sun had burnt away the clouds. I
took a drive down Lily Pond Lane, past the area’s biggest houses, and turned
onto Georgica Beach. At this time of year, you can park with your front
wheels in the sand.
I jumped out of the car and was struck by the sunlight, literally. It wasn’t
just bright, it was so pure and intense it felt like it exceeded the normal
wavelengths, throbbing as it came down. I took a few paces onto the sand and
stood rooted to the spot, looking at the giant waves crashing onto the
beach, bracing myself under the sunlight. A couple of walkers passed me with
the same wonder-struck faces.
Recharged, I went back to my room to make my travel plans home. I called a New
York taxi company to arrange a ride to the airport. When the dispatcher
picked up the phone, he was pleasant and efficient, but in the background
there was a noise that sounded something like a small monkey going loco. I
booked the cab then asked him about the noise. “There’s a monkey in the
manager’s office,” he told me.
I asked him why.
“You know,” he said, “I never thought to ask.”
I was back in America.
Chris West travelled as a guest of Virgin Atlantic, The Baker House and
Enterprise car hire
Getting there: New York is about 100 miles from the Hamptons. Airlines
flying there include Virgin Atlantic (0870 380 2007, www.virgin-atlantic.co.uk
), British Airways (0870 850 9850, www.ba.com
), Continental (0845 607 6760, www.continental.com
), American Airlines (0845 7789 789, www.americanairlines.co.uk
), Delta (0845 600 0950, www.delta.com
) and Aer Lingus (0870 876 5000, www.aerlingus.com
). Expect to pay from £270 from the UK in April; from €470 from Ireland. Or,
to do it in real style, go business-class with Silverjet (0871 700 8520, www.flysilverjet.com
) for £999.
Getting around: hire a car at the airport. Enterprise (0870 350 3000, www.enterprise.co.uk
) has a week’s inclusive car hire from £157. Or try Hertz (0870 844 8844, www.hertz.co.uk
).
Where to stay: in East Hampton, The Baker House (00 1 631-324 4081, www.bakerhouse1650.com
) offers classy B&B in a 17th-century house, with indoor and outdoor
pools and a spa; doubles from £179. Or try the Maidstone Arms Inn (324 5006, www.maidstonearms.com
); from £100, B&B.
Where to eat: Nick & Toni’s (324 3550; mains from £10) in East
Hampton is the place to dine. Not just because it’s a celeb hangout, but
because the food is great and the service charming. Nearby, Citarella (on
the main crossroads) is a bright eat-in deli, or for modern Italian, with
moderately priced pizzas and pasta, try Citta Nuova (324 6300).
Tour operators: North America Travel Service (020 7499 7299, www.northamericatravelservice.com
) has a week in the Hamptons from £1,197pp, including flights from London,
car hire and accommodation at the Southampton Inn. Alternatively, try
Complete North America (0115 950 4555, www.completenorthamerica.com
).
