The Vacation That Wasn’t
by Michael Antonoff
The hotel reservation was made months ago. With New York State leading the country in getting the pandemic under control, it seemed sensible to drive, not fly, and to stay within the borders of airy upstate New York and Western Massachusetts.
But then, I came across an interactive graphic on the New York Times website. It prompted me to answer a couple of personal questions about whether I was tourist-worthy. As soon as I put in my age, it returned this screen:
So I cancelled my plans and stayed home. Begrudgingly. But I did write this diary about the road trip that might have been.
Day 1
If all had gone according to plan, we would have begun our five-day vacation today. We would’ve taken the Taconic State Parkway to the Terrapin Restaurant in Rhinecliff for lunch, then proceeded up to the Marriott Residence Inn in East Greenbush, NY, for easy access to the Berkshires and Saratoga Springs. But with the Corona Virus continuing to spread, no place in America seemed worth the risk. So we took the safe route to go nowhere, and I made a hummus and pickle sandwich for lunch. Home bittersweet home.
Day 2
On Day 2 of our vacation that wasn’t, we planned to tour the Berkshires with a stop at the reopened Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge. We would have listened to “Sweet Baby James” (James Taylor) in the car. We might have driven around the Tanglewood grounds, though I suspect the gate would have been baton-down as would the down gate to Jacob’s Pillow. However, MASS MoCA has reopened, so more art for the heart was very doable.
A final stop at one of a dozen recreational marijuana retailers in the area would have enabled me to compare the shopping experience to similar outlets in Toronto. But that trip to Canada last summer then permitted indoor shopping. Today, Massachusetts requires orders to be placed through the Internet to be followed by curbside pickup only. Reminds me of the time in the seventies when I was cruising through Santa Cruz. Upon calling from a payphone, I was told the stash would be dropped from a second-floor porch at a rickety old house along Route 1. Just slow down and catch. Worked like a charm.
But back to reality here at home, it’s time to turn on the ceiling fan, stretch out on the easy chair with the Friday New York Times and realize how fortunate some of us are to have the option not to do much of anything at all.
Day 3
On Day 3 of our vacation that wasn’t, we planned to visit the last Howard Johnson’s restaurant. It’s located on always-being-renovated U.S. 9 in Lake George, NY. I would have ordered the fried clams and chocolate chip ice cream, one of 28 alleged flavors. (If all they had left was vanilla and chocolate, I’d be taking my business to the nearest Baskin Robbins, thank you.)
We might also have stopped in Saratoga Springs for a soothing mineral bath provided in a 1920s-built bathhouse with private enamel tubs that look like they’ve been used for a hundred years. Our luxuriating in steam and splendor would be topped off by a Dixie cup of sparkling Saratoga Springs water smelling from sulfur. (Yuck!)
Then, it would be off to see our former neighbors, a couple who once lived down the hall here in Queens but who pulled up stakes and moved to secluded acreage in the North Country. (From co-op to chicken coop, as they say.) They’re somewhere up I-87, but you must first cross the river. (I would have called it the mighty Hudson, but the stream is awfully narrow that far north.) They live closer to Vermont than Albany. We would have sat outside on lawn furniture and traded stories about dogs, cats and lousy Internet service in the country while swatting mosquitoes, but in the interest of not passing microbes between us, we decided to put off getting together until, at this rate, hell freezes over.
So much for Day 3. Since I no longer get the Times delivered on weekends, I’ll minimize Facebook and read the paper on my PC. That should be good for the next hour. Until I move into the easy chair and continue reading on my phone. That is, until I fall asleep, only to be awoken by some caller trying to sell me a time share in the Outer Banks. Can’t wait for Sunday.
Day 4
On Day 4 of our vacation that wasn’t, we planned to have breakfast at the Residence Inn’s included Hot & Cold Buffet. But our hotel had discontinued the usual self-service due to the mass-sharing of serving utensils and guests being prone to sneeze into the cut fruit. The thought of a silent COVID carrier placing his hands on the same spoon used to dollop oatmeal into his dish moments before I prepared to make the oatmeal go kerplunk into my own bowl gave me chills. So, we were relieved that the kitchen was taking individual orders and reassured by the sight of the help wearing gloves and masks. Since it would have been awkward to dine in with the close-together tables all facing The Today Show, we carried our Styrofoam containers, juices and two large coffees back to our room.
We had planned to make it a Capitol day, that is tour the New York State Capitol Building and walk around Empire State Plaza, Nelson Rockefeller’s edifice complex that can’t readily be torn down. Since it was Sunday, the buildings were closed. We did do a 360 by The Egg, Albany’s performing arts venue that hasn’t hosted any performances lately. I tried to spot purported cracks in The Egg. Maybe they’re fiscal.
We also planned to drive to Howe Caverns and enjoy the naturally cool climes of being underground with loud groups of large families. But the cave was closed on account of no room for social distancing and lack of outdoor ventilation.
We would have celebrated our 18th Anniversary at Albany’s renowned Denny’s, I mean Jack’s Oyster House on State Street. Politicians have been cutting deals here for decades. I would have ordered the Hudson Valley Fish Farm Steel-head Trout, broiled, and garnished with curly-edged endive, watermelon radishes, pickled blueberries, and citrus sauce ($27). Jackie, my wife, would have ordered something labeled gluten-free, probably chicken.
That night we would have laid around our hotel suite and watched TV while I checked my email again. Since there is one set in the bedroom and another in the main room, we each could have chosen our own rerun. There isn’t much to do in Albany on a Sunday night even without a pandemic, so I suppose we would have gotten the flavor right at least on this part of the trip that didn’t happen.
Day 5
On Day 5 of our vacation that wasn’t, we planned to motor down the Thruway in our 20-year-old Saturn. I wanted to take the once ubiquitous miniature shampoos and conditioners from our suite, but Marriott has wised up and installed non-removable dispensers in the shower. We checked out in masks. The stay was all on points, which I hope to use on a future visit since they were returned to my account when I cancelled the trip two weeks ago.
We would have gotten off the Thomas Dewey (the official name of the New York State Thruway) at Exit 19, Kingston. Sure, it would have been nice to lunch at the Bear Cafe in Woodstock, but the weather was oppressively hot, so instead we would have chosen to make a beeline for the Meredith’s Bread Retail Store on Route 28 supposedly across from the Speedway gas station. (We had tried to find Meredith’s five years ago after attending the Saugerties Garlic Festival, but my then phone’s GPS seemed to think I wanted Kingston, Jamaica. We ended up at a farm store on the edge of a corn field where we bought ears in husks hot off the roaster. Though naturally gluten-free, they weren’t baked goods.) Meredith’s offers a large selection of gluten-free cakes, breads, pies, muffins, scones, and cookies. You can find their goods (wheat-flour ones, too) at green markets all over New York City. Since everything originates at the Meredith’s Bread in Kingston, going there is like taking a side trip to Mecca. This time I would have found it and yelled Eureka while wiping cinnamon crumbs from my face.
I’m an NPR junkie but trying to listen to WNYC’s signal on a car radio upstate mostly involves static and being drowned out by a Beyoncé-heavy music station that never should be allowed to escape Poughkeepsie. Are you listening, Federal Communications Commission? WAMC, the upstate NPR hydra, must think the FCC is monitoring them because every hour, they not only announce their FM and AM call letters and frequencies for Albany but rush to add “WAMK, 90.9 FM, Kingston; WOSR, 91.7 FM, Middletown; WCEL, 91.9 FM, Plattsburgh; WCAN, 93.3 FM, Canajoharie; WANC, 103.9 FM, Ticonderoga; WRUN-FM, 90.3 FM, Remsen-Utica; WAMQ, 105.1 FM, Great Barrington, MA; WWES, 88.9 FM, Mt. Kisco; WANR, 88.5 FM, Brewster; and WANZ, 90.1, Stamford.” They have 16 more “translator” stations that provide coverage to mostly hard-to-reach valleys, but if they announced those, too, the list would cut into the hourly news. Where’s Live from Tanglewood when you need it?
After stocking up on brown rice-based carbohydrates from Meredith’s, we rejoined the Dewey. We planned to stop at the Storm King Art Center in New Windsor, N.Y., so we could wander the grounds (pictured) and feel dwarfed by sculptures made from deformed I-beams. We’d breath fresh air through our requisite masks. But that would have meant relinquishing the car’s air-conditioned comfort. I suspected we’d be so sweaty after 4- or 5-minutes of art appreciation that we’d have regretted ever leaving the car. So, we didn’t.
We drove on to the Palisades Interstate Parkway and George Washington Bridge, took the Harlem River Drive to the RFK (formerly Triboro) Bridge and made our way back to Queens. We didn’t have to unpack, since we never left. It was a summer vacation like no other, and we hardly broke a sweat.
