Plan Your Visit

Groton, Connecticut - the submarine capital of the world, as the locals and roadsigns will tell you, and the undisputed capital of this wedding. A town defined by things that disappear beneath the surface and come back changed. Start outside, because Groton shines when you let it breathe. Eastern Point Beach is for cold-water courage and toe-dipping realism. Bluff Point offers a beautiful, honest hike - no heroics, just woods and water views. Avery Point is for slow walks and long thoughts - the kind that arrive uninvited when the water is calm and the sun is low. And Ford Griswold sits stoically, carrying the weight of Colonel Ledyard and a Revolutionary War lesson that ends badly and sticks with you. 

If golf is your speed, Donald Ross’ masterpiece Shennecosset delivers. It isn’t a country club fantasy, just 6,500 yards of municipal enjoyment tucked against the Thames. Change your shoes in the parking lot, the pro shop, or the first tee, just don’t be late. No hushed reverence, no dress code anxiety, no one pretending they’re better than the ground they’re standing on. You walk it, you feel it. The only things more firm that the course’s opening handshake are the greens. After emerging from the front nine battered and bruised by the brawny 4th and the breezy 6th, and winding your way across the back, sandwiched between houses that weren’t even dreamed up when the links were laid out, the final few holes along the water are your payoff. The kind of golf that makes you forget your score, your swing, and whatever dumb bets you made on the first tee. Wind off the water, salt in the air, maybe a submarine steaming past as if it’s got somewhere to be. It’s a love letter written in grass and hard-pan. Just public land, working-class golf, and the quiet understanding that you’re unlikely to find this particular mix of turf and competition anywhere else.

The submarines - ah, the submarines - you can’t avoid them here, and you shouldn’t try. The Submarine Force Museum isn’t just a collection of artifacts, it’s an initiation. You don’t just look at history, you step inside it. Boarding the Nautilus, history’s first nuclear-powered ship, is humbling in a claustrophobic, awe-filled way. Every tight corridor whispers competence, discipline, and the kind of pressure most of us will never know. Don’t miss the ship’s simulated crew cast not in amber, but in plaster, on eternal patrol as if led by Captain Nemo himself. Once you’re back on dry land, ask a question - any question - and someone nearby probably knows the answer. That alone feels rare these days. 

For comfort food with a view, Paul’s Pasta sits along the river; an institution for a reason. The pasta is obvious; the Caesar salad is overlooked. House-made dressing that punches above its weight. One bite and every other salad you’ve ever eaten feels like a lie. When it’s time to drink, Outer Light pours out local beers with care and confidence. For a full bar and the promise of bad decisions made among friends, Ryan’s Pub is the move - and yes, that’s where the afterparty happens. Pace yourself. Or don’t. 

Take a drive to Noank, a tightly packed knot of old houses, new boats, and stubborn charm sitting at the mouth of the Mystic River. This is seafood territory - Harings, Abbotts, Costellos - and that’s no joke. Don’t miss breakfast at Carson’s - a diner frozen in time, proudly untouched for seventy years. You don’t renovate places like this. You protect them. 

A few oddities round things out: the Avery Copp House, a historical landmark that’s earned the right to open and close whenever it feels like, and Rolling Tomato, one of our go-to pizza joints.

Groton isn’t flashy. It doesn’t need to be. It knows exactly what it is - and for this weekend, it’s home.