The end of the Great Crossroads Transatlantic Experience was
blessedly peaceful. After the hectic pace of ASTA in Strasbourg
followed by some heavy-duty Amsterdam tourism (I saw an all-Dutch
production of "Company," drop me a line if you want to hear about it), I
was ready to relax before my flight home.
I restored my sanity (sort of) at the Seven-one-Seven, a tiny,
private guesthouse located on a canal at 717 Princegracht. This
was, hands down, the most all-around perfect place I've ever been
Housed in a glossy, black-brick row house with a discreet bronze
nameplate, this could have been a 5th Avenue embassy building.
Behind the oversized wooden door were three salons, each more
elegant than the next.
The china was Spode, the paintings genuine, the staff
impeccable. I stayed in the Franz Liszt rooms, whose only paean to
theme-decor was a music stand. The rest was so beautifully
appointed and comfortable I really didn't ever want to leave.
But I did, and I'm back, and tomorrow it's back to the business
at hand. What have I missed?