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You have thirteen people. A weekend in mind. And a search bar that keeps showing you three-bedroom apartments in Brooklyn and converted barns two and a half hours into the Catskills. The person organizing a group trip for ten to sixteen people near New York City faces a market that was not designed for them….
You get the call — or the letter, or the text with the photo of the acceptance packet — and everything that follows happens in a blur of pride and logistics. Your son or daughter is going to West Point. The United States Military Academy. Four years that will reshape their life. And yours. Then…
What is there more kindly than the feeling between host and guest?
