The Greenbrier - White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia

Escape to The Greenbrier: Two Perfect Days of Sophisticated Southern Splendor

Mike and I just spent two perfect days at The Greenbrier, and I’m still floating. As we wandered the main hotel, it felt less like a resort and more like stepping into a living timeline of American glamour. Dorothy Draper’s masterpiece bursts in full Technicolor: soaring fuchsia and emerald walls, hand-painted chinoiserie, rose-medallion carpets, and black-and-white marble floors that reflect chandeliers the size of small moons. What stopped us in our tracks, though, were the sitting nooks—dozens of them scattered everywhere. Each one is a tiny stage set: jewel-tone tufted sofas, glossy lacquer tables, massive fresh floral arrangements, scalloped arches framing intimate corners. Mike spent hours photographing them—the emerald Victorian Writing Room, the sunny Upper Lobby, the hidden alcoves beside grand staircases. He couldn’t get over how perfectly composed they all are, like the resort hired a stylist for every chair.

This place has hosted legends since 1778, earning its nickname “America’s Resort.” Twenty-eight U.S. presidents have stayed here, starting with Martin Van Buren, John Tyler, and Millard Fillmore, who treated it like a summer White House. Woodrow Wilson honeymooned nearby with his wife, while Dwight D. Eisenhower held the 1956 North American Summit in the Presidential Suite. Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, and George W. Bush followed, often retreating to plot world affairs amid the sulphur springs. Royalty has flocked too: the Duke and Duchess of Windsor were frequent guests in the 1940s and ’50s, fresh from their own scandalous honeymoon vibes (Wallis Simpson’s first one was here in 1916). Prince Rainier and Princess Grace of Monaco glided through the halls, as did Jawaharlal Nehru and Indira Gandhi. Celebrities? Bing Crosby crooned by the fireplaces, Lou Gehrig teed off on the Old White Course, and modern stars like Lionel Richie, Brooke Shields, and Charles Barkley have all unwound here. Even Joseph and Rose Kennedy honeymooned on-site, launching a dynasty. Walking those halls, I half-expected to bump into a ghost in a tuxedo—maybe Eisenhower critiquing Mike’s angles.

Our Paradise Lane Cottage was the ideal serene retreat. Classic Greenbrier florals and stripes, a wood-burning fireplace we kept crackling both nights, an enormous king bed that swallowed us whole, and a marble bathroom. Turndown service every evening made it pure bliss.

The real treat, though, was the spa. Absolutely next-level. We both had massages and long soaks in the famous mineral sulphur baths—very warm, slightly earthy water that left our skin impossibly soft and our muscles melted. I swam both days in the stunning indoor pool under the soaring glass atrium; sunlight streamed in and turned every stroke into a postcard moment. Mike skipped the pool and kept hunting more nooks instead.

Dinners were unforgettable: a flawless filet in the dazzling Main Dining Room one night, sublime handmade pasta and eggplant parmesan at The Forum the next.

The Greenbrier is a work of art, steeped in stories that make every stay feel epic. We left relaxed, spoiled, and already scheming our return. Five radiant stars—this place is magic.

November, 2025