But I was trying to be prudent and wanted to take advantage of the Pacific Northwest’s gorgeous weather this time of year. So I ultimately decided on a four-day trip to Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands.

I really can’t stress enough the beauty of these islands. They are only a 90-minute drive north from Seattle, and then an hour or so ferry ride. But they might as well be 20 hours from the nearest big city, because they are so unspoiled, and once you are there, it feels like you are practically alone.

Notice I say feels like you are alone once you’re there. Because you wouldn’t know it from the ferry lines in Anacortes, the town where you catch the boats. For a 3:45 pm ferry leaving on a Friday, we got there two hours beforehand, and cars stretched for miles waiting to get on. We ended up with a standby ticket, and were told we might make that ferry. Oh, and the boat was an hour behind schedule. At 5 pm, we were one of the last cars on.

But then — we were whisked away. And I quickly forgot about the wait. Because it really is that beautiful.

I ultimately chose the island of Orcas because it reminds me of Block Island off the coast of Rhode Island, where my family used to vacation when I was a kid. Orcas’ main town of Eastsound is in the middle of the island, and two decent size mountains — Turtleback Mountain and Mount Constitution — are on either end of the island’s horseshoe shape. Orcas has a great mixture of endless coastlines, mountain hikes, small villages, and is the home of talented artisans.

We decided to stay on the far end of the island at a place called Doe Bay Resort & Retreat. I was a tad reluctant to book here because I’m not into resorts, and I’m not into retreats. I find resorts boring and expensive and usually suck everything that I like about travel out of a destination. I stayed at the famous Rosario Resort on Orcas once, and meh. The accommodations were tired, the food was marginal and I wanted out.

But Doe Bay! Doe Bay is not a resort. And it’s not a retreat. At first I thought it might feel a tad hippie dippy for me, but it wasn’t. It’s whatever you want it to be. You can camp. Or you can car camp. Or you can stay in a yurt. Or a small cabin. Or a house. It was clean, unpretentious and the grounds were  immaculate. The staff was friendly and helpful. There’s a sauna and plunge pools, beach access, and they have a spectacular restaurant.

We camped in a spot overlooking the water, and had this for dinner:

I loved the juxtaposition of a tent and sleeping bags coupled with a delicious meal. Oh — and the whole experience was reasonably priced, too.

Yay for Doe Bay!

To hate camping is akin to hating pets in the Pacific Northwest. Here, there’s nothing better than a day spent walking the trails to some far outpost, gorp in hand, dog off-leash, to sleep under the stars in some contraption designed by REI.

A friend of a friend lived in an electricity-free, running-water-free yurt, hiking every day of her pregnancy, and she is not all that unusual here.

I, however, am not that girl. To me, “camping” equals a night at a hotel without cable.

So while I hate the catchphrase of “glamping” (glamping? Really?), I like the idea: a little bit of nature, a lot of style.

The photo above caught my eye because I have two of those same tulip lamps from Ikea. The fact that it’s a €55 room in France only makes it better.

This summer, as part of the trip that will include Dutch language school, I’ll be spending a couple of nights on Texel (pronounced “tessel”), which is one of the remote locations in the “glamping” article. Although I am tempted by these Airstream campsites (!), I’ll probably be staying in a hotel, but still–Texel doesn’t get a lot of coverage in U.S. travel sections, so even a brief shout-out is fun.

See the full “posh” campsite list at The Guardian.