Winter Break To truly escape for a weekend, you might need to think beyond a hotel. Panio Gianopoulos From Every Day with Rachael Ray February 2008 I need a vacation. And I don't mean that the way most people do when they've had a bad day. I really need a vacation. During the past six months, I've been watching my daughter, Mathilda, in hotel rooms while her mother performs in a traveling musical. Spending each week in a strange new city, engaged in earnest conversations about the preferences of unicorns (likes: butterflies and apples; dislikes: car alarms and monkeys) is wearing me down. It's the dead of winter, but no matter: Mr. Mom needs a break. I want privacy, solitude and a serious change of scenery. To me, a lighthouse—perched on a rocky shore flashing in the darkness—is the ultimate symbol of isolation. So I settle on the Big Bay Lighthouse Bed and Breakfast (3 Lighthouse Road, Big Bay, bigbaylighthouse.com, 906-345-9957) on the upper peninsula of Michigan. I figure I won't have to say a word to anyone all weekend. When I arrive at the lighthouse, it isn't at all what I expect. I'd pictured a barren white tower on a craggy cliff. Instead, I'm facing a homey farmhouse. If it weren't for the lighthouse beacon sticking out of the top like an upside-down ice-cream cone, I'd think I have the wrong address. Inside, the surprises continue. Rather than a narrow, utilitarian space filled with nautical gear and maps, I find all the trappings of a cozy bed-and-breakfast: big comfy chairs, a library and roaring fireplaces. I scarf down a handful of freshly baked oatmeal-raisin cookies while the proud owners give me a tour, explaining the lighthouse's historical relevance and pointing out all the amenities, including a sauna. Solitude is good. Solitude and dry heat ... even better. After 30 minutes in the sauna and a nap in my comfy room, I walk into town. Locals are proud of the fact that their town was the setting for the 1959 thriller Anatomy of a Murder, a movie I've never seen. In a desperate attempt to hide my ignorance, I order a huge, tasty "Anatomy of a Sandwich" at Thunder Bay Inn (400 Bensinger St., 906-345-9376, thunderbayinn.com), then scamper to Big Bay Outfitters (308 Bensinger St., 906-345-9399, bigbayoutfitters.com) to see about working off the calories on a guided hike. Feeling antisocial, I skip the guide and take a long solitary walk through the woods, winding my way along the coast of Lake Superior. It's cold and striking. White-tailed deer softly bound past. For hours I don't see another person, and the only sound is the boom of the water crashing against the rocks. The feeling of isolation is unbelievable. It's exciting but also eerie, as if I'm the only person on Earth. Over the next few days I sleep late and miss breakfast. More time alone. I order takeout and eat sandwiches in my room, curled under the warm comforter, reading. My cell phone doesn't work here; neither does my laptop's wireless card. Entire days pass without my uttering a word. I feel alternately like a monk and a prisoner. Yes, solitude was the point of this trip, but solitude and loneliness, it seems, can be interchangeable. Next time I'm looking to get away from my day-to-day life, maybe I'll try a cottage in New Hampshire or a yurt in Colorado, somewhere with enough room for my daughter, too—and her imaginary unicorns. Find out more about Big Bay, Michigan, with our Interactive Maps!

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