The family Easter feast was held at the niece & nephew's new vacation home, in a tiny boutique town two hours' drive away. (It has two delis, a bakery, and a winery, but no grocery store.) Getting there was the challenge. Not so much the long drive, or the even longer drive back while stuffed with Easter feaster, but the actual house. I had the street address, so as navigating is my skill, I had no trouble getting to the right spot. The problem was finding the actual house.
Nobody had told us, you see, that 1) there is absolutely no sign, anywhere, with the house's street number on it; 2) the driveway comes not off the street it's on, but from the access road into a mobile home park with a different street address; 3) even if you drive into the mobile home park, which we did, you can't see the house from the foot of the driveway, which looks like a maintenance access road; 4) once you head down the driveway, you can't get in unless someone remembers to open the electronic gate. (The dogs knew we were coming.) If I'd had the first two pieces of this information, or better yet a map showing the driveway, there would have been no problem.
Once inside, a large house with a backyard orchard of orange trees and shrug trees. (The orange trees were easily identified. We asked a younger niece, the one whose father is always boasting that she knows everything, what the other ones were, and she shrugged, so that's how we know they're shrug trees.) So that's how they live, over there.
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