1. The Journey Begins: Why Erie?
I hadn’t planned on Erie. It wasn’t on a list or part of a strategy. It wasn’t a well-researched itinerary with pins on Google Maps. Erie happened the way the best things in life often do—by chance and instinct. I was looking for a quieter kind of getaway. Something slower, closer to the water, but still wrapped in American character. Lake Erie, with its serene horizon and understated energy, drew me in. Not in a loud, tourist-magnet kind of way, but in a way that felt like a whisper—inviting, intimate, and waiting to be discovered.
I began looking not just for a place to stay, but for an experience. I wanted something personal, not corporate. A hotel with a soul, rather than sterile walls and template interiors. That’s how I stumbled upon Spencer House Bed & Breakfast, located at 519 W 6th St, Erie, PA 16507.
2. Booking the Stay: Searching Beyond the Obvious
I came across Spencer House while scrolling through Booking.com late at night. I had initially been looking at standard chains, but none sparked any excitement. The Spencer House caught my eye with its Victorian architecture and glowing reviews that focused not on grandeur but on warmth, care, and character. It stood out for being genuine. There was a certain honesty in the way guests described their stay—not as customers, but as guests in someone’s cherished home.
The room I booked was the King Room with Spa Bath, which cost $189 per night, including taxes and breakfast. I stayed for four nights, making the total $756. I booked it about three weeks in advance. There was no pressure, no price surge, no countdown timer. It was just there, waiting for someone to choose it with intention. And I did.
3. First Impressions: Arriving at Spencer House
Driving up to Spencer House feels like stepping into another time. The home, built in 1876, sits proudly in the heart of Erie’s historic “Millionaires Row,” a quiet tree-lined street with well-preserved mansions and wide sidewalks. The house, painted in warm tones of cream and red, stands with the quiet dignity of another century. Its porch wraps around like a gentle arm, and the tall wooden doors open not just to rooms, but to stories.
I arrived just after 3 PM, and the sun was casting a honey-colored light on the facade. I was greeted by Joyce and Steve, the innkeepers and stewards of this magnificent house. No uniforms. No artificial smiles. Just real people, genuinely happy to welcome someone into their home.
Check-in was swift but unhurried. Joyce offered a tour of the house, pointing out original woodwork, stained glass windows, and antique furnishings that hadn’t been bought for style but preserved out of love. I could feel the care in every detail—from the framed vintage photos in the hallway to the delicate lace curtains catching the light.
4. The Room: More Than a Place to Sleep
My room was at the top of the stairs on the second floor. The King Room with Spa Bath was both spacious and cozy. It featured a tall four-poster bed with crisp white linens and hand-stitched quilts. The hardwood floors creaked softly underfoot—an old house’s way of reminding you that you’re not in a prefab box, but in something built to last.
A sitting area by the window included two tufted armchairs and a small round table where I would later spend mornings sipping coffee and reading while the world outside slowly woke up. The spa bath, tucked into an alcove, was outfitted with jet features and a wide marble ledge perfect for candles, a book, or just resting your head back in silence.
There was no mini bar stocked with overpriced plastic bottles, no generic wall art, no buzzing LED alarm clocks. Instead, there was a decanter of filtered water on the dresser, a small library of classic novels on the nightstand, and a handwritten note from Joyce welcoming me by name.
5. The Breakfast Ritual: Comfort on a Plate
Breakfast at Spencer House is not a buffet line. There’s no clatter of trays or lukewarm scrambled eggs in stainless steel troughs. Each morning, guests are welcomed into the dining room with soft instrumental music playing in the background, the table set with porcelain dishes, cloth napkins, and polished silver.
One morning, it was lemon ricotta pancakes with fresh berries and maple syrup from a local farm. The next day brought a spinach and feta quiche with roasted tomatoes and warm croissants. Coffee was strong and full-bodied, served in large mugs that warmed your hands. Fresh orange juice, fruit salad, and Joyce’s homemade granola made appearances as well.
Everything was made in-house. Nothing rushed. Guests talked in soft voices, exchanging tips and stories, and Steve would occasionally step in to ask how the food was or offer directions for the day’s explorations.
6. The Neighborhood: Exploring Erie on Foot
Spencer House is located in Erie’s West Sixth Street Historic District, an area that makes walking feel like wandering through a period film set. A few blocks east takes you to Presque Isle Bay, where the water meets the city in a peaceful embrace. I walked there every evening, just before sunset, passing by old brick buildings, flowering dogwoods, and the occasional jogger or dog walker.
From the inn, I ventured to the Erie Art Museum, a small but thoughtfully curated space showcasing local and regional artists. Admission was $10, and I spent a quiet afternoon there, particularly moved by a series of oil paintings capturing Erie’s working-class history.
For food, I found myself returning twice to Pineapple Eddie Southern Bistro (1407 W 10th St). It’s a short drive from the inn and offers Creole-influenced dishes that feel both comforting and elevated. Their jerk chicken and shrimp & grits were bold, spicy, and deeply satisfying.
7. Moments of Stillness: In Between the Itinerary
One of the gifts of staying at Spencer House was the permission to do nothing. On my second day, after a walk along Presque Isle State Park, I returned to my room, opened the windows, and listened to the rain tap softly against the glass. I didn’t reach for my phone or turn on the TV. I simply sat and listened. The quiet was not empty—it was restorative.
Another afternoon, Joyce invited me to join her in the parlor for tea. There were no other guests around, and we spent an hour talking about Erie’s history, how she and Steve had found the house, and what it means to truly restore something, not just renovate it.
It wasn’t a tour. It wasn’t scheduled. It was just human connection.
8. Nightfall: A Different Kind of Rest
Nights at Spencer House don’t hum with the buzz of elevators or hallway chatter. They exhale. The house seems to breathe with you. The old radiator in my room let out the occasional sigh, and the soft light from the bedside lamp cast long, slow-moving shadows on the ceiling.
I read a few chapters of a novel from the room’s collection each night. The quilt was warm but not heavy. The mattress was the perfect balance between support and softness. I slept deeply, waking only once to the faint sound of church bells in the distance, reminding me again where I was: in a real place, with history and heartbeat.
9. Local Treasures Discovered
On the third day, I made a point to explore Presque Isle State Park in more depth. The park offers miles of beaches, bike trails, and marshes that host migratory birds in spring. Renting a bike from Presque Isle Boat Rental ($20 for 2 hours) allowed me to cover a good portion of the peninsula. I stopped at Beach 8, known for its quiet and cleaner sand, and simply lay back, letting the wind off the lake tangle my thoughts into something looser, lighter.
I also discovered Romolo Chocolates (1525 W 8th St), a family-run chocolate shop that’s been around for generations. I picked up a box of assorted dark chocolates for $16 and ended up finishing them before I even made it back to the inn.
10. Weather and the Unexpected
May in Erie is a dance between warm sun and sudden storms. On my final full day, the forecast flipped unexpectedly, and a dense fog settled over the city. Instead of my planned boat tour, I stayed close. The house felt even more atmospheric in the mist—like something from a novel by Edith Wharton.
I spent the afternoon writing postcards, reading, and simply observing the small details of the house—the way light hit the banister, the smell of old books, the texture of aged wallpaper. It’s a rare thing, in travel or life, to feel both somewhere and at home. That’s what this place offered, without trying too hard.
11. Check-Out Without Hurry
On the morning I left, Steve handed me a paper bag with a homemade muffin and a note that said, “Safe travels—come see us again.” It wasn’t marketing. It wasn’t strategy. It was a real gesture, and it landed.
I stood on the porch for a few extra minutes, reluctant to leave. Not because of the amenities or the location or the reviews. But because of the feeling—the sense that I had been part of something personal, not mass-produced.