When I spoke to the property manager ahead of our visit, she apologized that the yard crew had not been able to mow the lawn before our visit, and to make up for it, she was leaving firewood for the fire pit. I asked about beach chairs and she said that we should bring them because she wasn’t sure if there were any. And to bring beach towels since past guests have stolen them and they are no longer provided.
With that conversation, I was slightly apprehensive about our Memorial Day weekend trip, but we loaded in the car for the four-hour drive to the beach.
Have you seen the documentary, Grey Gardens? That was the first impression as we pulled into the driveway. But not The Hamptons, Kennedy-legacy backstory Grey Gardens, just overgrown, broken down, and ignored.
That also explains another point the property manager had made. To access the beach we needed to walk down two houses and use another lot. She said we needed to avoid going through the adjacent property to get to the beach. “I think he is jealous that we’ve been so successful on our rentals,” she said.
No, I said out loud as we pulled up that drive, I think the neighbors are tired of living next to a neglected house.
Inside the house proved no different. What was described as an European-style rustic cottage, is truly just tired, stuffed to the gills with junk, and steeped in half-finished DYI projects, most notably the shower. Tiles held up with excessive amounts of caulk, huge globs of caulk trying to direct the water down the drain, and a slate floor that rocks back and forth, so whatever misses the caulked drain ends up somewhere other than the septic system.
Because of the overgrown vegetation, the mosquitoes were rampant, so we spent little time outside and the fire pits went unused.
The house is surrounded by a riprap shoreline with no private sandy beach like neighboring properties.
Because of the exorbitant cleaning fee we were charged, we assumed we would not be responsible for carrying the household trash to the dump. Yet we were. Also, there were no toiletries, no sponge to wash dishes, and the refrigerator couldn’t even keep ice from melting.
With vacation time being a rare thing in our household, we decided to stick with it, largely because we didn’t have the energy to pack up and make to half-day trek home the same day.
Please, future renters, beware, “My Sweet Escape” is neither sweet nor an escape, and no movies will be made about it.