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My husband and I fell in love in South Carolina. Not with each other, but with a “river man” named Albo. On our second night at The Dunlin, the newest hotel from Auberge Resorts Collection, we took a sunset cruise in the estuary surrounding the property. On another kind of trip, this would have been a quaint diversion before dinner. But on Kiawah River, Albo, a dead ringer for Sam Elliott, toured us through a landscape of incongruous splendors. To look at it, the water seemed as flat and still as a big puddle, its expanse broken up by tall grass and great islands of fresh oysters. (Albo said he only eats these during months that end in “-er,” something I will remember forever.) But within minutes the water became deep enough for us to spot pods of dolphins poking through the surface.
“If you don’t enjoy yourself out here,” Albo said as the sky took on a soft lavender cast, “well, then we just can’t be friends.”
Up until this point, I’d slept on regional trips; I never quite understood getting on a plane only to stay in the States. But one weekend at The Dunlin—just a two-hour flight from New York—convinced me that local travel may actually be the best kind of travel.
Set along the marshy Charleston coastline, about 40 minutes from the city center, The Dunlin sits beyond rows of perfect white houses, trees draped with Spanish moss, and tufts of purple sweetgrass that line the area’s walking paths. (There are a lot here.) The vibe across its 72 guest rooms and suites is coastal grandma in the best possible way: airy porches, gabled roofs, shiplap wood, walls awash in mint green and bright whites, and oh-so-much wicker.
A low country gloss—bygone and laid-back—has been applied to all the classic amenities. The Aster spa, in its own cottage across a footbridge, has a menu that integrates both top-notch products from Biologique Recherche and honey from local apiaries. Meanwhile, the property’s petite pool, called The Cove, has been designed to feel like a 1950s swim club, complete with scalloped, mint-colored umbrellas and stately rattan loungers. The poolside bar also mixes up a medley of spritz-forward drinks, so you can sip to your heart’s content and still be decent for cocktail hour.
In the Seabrook Suite where we were staying, a king-sized bed—covered in a canopy of mint gingham—stands alongside a giant soaking tub that overlooks a stretch of 100-year-old angel oak trees. (I was able to identify them thanks to the charming copy of A Field Guide to Trees and Shrubs perched on my bathtub caddy.) In the living room, there were all kinds of cozy comforts: a big TV over the fireplace, a charming breakfast nook, and a rather large private terrace.
I was struck by how at ease we felt. Within moments of arriving, my husband Joel settled into the floppy couch, while I enjoyed a bit of sweet tea on the porch. It’s the kind of place that invites daydreaming: “Maybe we should just move to South Carolina,” I said to Joel when he joined me outside. This sense of hominess is intentional. The design team, led by Amanda Lindroth, wanted The Dunlin to feel like a family summer place—well appointed yet totally relaxed.
Lindroth was careful to create indoor spaces that wouldn’t eclipse the natural beauty of the area, but if there were one happy distraction at The Dunlin, it would be the food. Michael DeCicco, a protégé of Thomas Keller, serves as the executive chef on the property, overseeing the main restaurant, Linnette’s, as well as the menus at The Cove and the Willet Room bar.
Over the course of three days, I ate my way through the menu, which was full of Southern standards like collard green hush puppies, a shrimp cocktail dressed in a tangy lemon sauce, and local seafood like cornmeal-crusted flounder with Carolina Gold rice or seared grouper with smoky red peas. Everything was excellent; not just hotel-good, but genuinely ambitious and special. The cocktail menu was similarly full of Southern charm; Joel and I were both partial to the “lazy man’s Old Fashioned,” which mixes in orange marmalade in lieu of muddled sugar.
For a nightcap, we went downstairs to the Willet Room, which felt more like an elegant den than a lobby bar. I curled up on yet another comfortable couch with a cup of hot tea as Joel nursed a heavy pour of Amaro. We clinked our glasses and made a new joke about moving here. Usually when you go somewhere very different from home, it takes a moment to feel truly at rest. But at The Dunlin, a transporting retreat by the sea, this incredibly elusive pleasure is right on the surface.
