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Tuesday, May 27, 2008
A Holiday In The Berkshires
The C.S.O. and I have just returned from a long weekend in the Berkshire region of western Massachusetts. That region, a place of many beauties and tourist attractions, has become one of our regular getaways...though just today, I find I'm asking myself why.
A rational man would logically expect a locale as dependent upon tourism as the Berkshires to display a strong service ethic and well-honed hospitality-industry skills. Sadly, our expectations were somewhat confounded this year. A detailed report follows.
Day One: No genuine disasters or major inconveniences that day, though we were surprised at the new Massachusetts law against signaling one's turns and lane changes. It is a law, isn't it? We couldn't come up with any other explanation for the uniformity of the practice. Anyway, we checked in at our inn, stepped out for a quick dinner, and were shortly thereafter abed.
Day Two: Didn't begin all that well. For one thing, we discovered that our room was equipped with an Eject-A-Bed, which attempts through steady pressure to dump its occupants onto the floor while they sleep. No doubt this accounts for the nightmare I had about hanging from a cliff face by my fingernails.
Once we were marginally awake, it was off to the village of Stockbridge, made famous by Arlo Guthrie's classic Alice's Restaurant. Stockbridge is a place of many pleasures, all of them quite expensive. The C.S.O. insisted upon visiting the Holsten Gallery, where she oohed and aahed over numerous glass sculptures with four and five-figure prices. We escaped without making a purchase, but my relief was short-lived, for at the Berkshire Fine Leather And Silver Emporium in Lenox, she induced me to buy a hideously expensive leather jewelry box (for her) and a leather blazer (for me).
When we returned to our lodgings, we discovered that the maid had accidentally locked us out of our bathroom. As she doesn't speak English (surprise, surprise), she neglected to inform her management. No, the concierge didn't have the key. Neither did the supervising manager. Maintenance sent a locksmith to pick the lock, just in time to avert a catastrophe.
The wireless Internet service was unreliable all day.
Day Three: We discovered that the Eject-A-Bed cannot be fooled by huddling along its axis. Each of us woke up just before being dumped onto the floor. Water pressure in the bathroom died completely as I finished lathering my hair, but returned -- cold -- about ten minutes later. Bracing.
After Mass, it was off to the Mohawk Trail. This lovely route through western and northern Massachusetts passes through numerous small towns whose residents automatically divide all speed-limit figures by two; apparently it's nothing they can help. However, the village of Shelburne Falls, its Bridge of Flowers, and its "glacial potholes" were as arresting as ever, as were the many art galleries along the village's main street. We dropped another small fortune on watercolors and nature photography.
When we set out to dinner was when things got really interesting. Our reservations at one of the region's premier restaurants were dishonored. After thirty minutes' wait, we decided to seek our fortunes elsewhere. Bad mistake: we explored three other restaurants that couldn't produce an empty table in less than forty-five minutes, and one, a chain restaurant, whose bartender didn't realize that a vodka gimlet is supposed to have something more than vodka in it. We wound up going to Burger King at 8:45 PM. Heavily overdressed, at that. Apparently the remedial class was on duty: the burgers took twenty minutes to prepare, and the fries arrived cold.
Day Four: The Eject-A-Bed has won a round: I awoke on the floor at 12:15 AM. The C.S.O. was snoring contentedly, on my side of the bed and perilously close to falling on me. I got back into bed, gently persuaded (elbows in the ribs) the C.S.O. to make room, and lay awake, maniacally gripping the edge of the mattress, until 6 AM.
We went to a pottery gallery the C.S.O. had heard about, and after that to the Berkshire Botanical Gardens. Nothing was in bloom; after an hour's fruitless search for something that didn't look like untended sawgrass, we gave up and sought lunch. We stopped at a pizza place -- safe enough, right? -- ordered a pizza topped with broccoli, mushrooms, and sun-dried tomatoes, waited thirty minutes, and at the edge of low-blood-sugar calamity were at last presented with a slab of semi-cooked dough covered with cheese, broccoli bits, and nothing else. The waitress apologized and told us that the cook had "zoned out." We ate it.
Dinner was uneventful. Thank You, God.
Day Five: Away, away! We rose at first light -- note: "rose," not "awoke" -- scrambled around frantically to collect our possessions and pack Mercy the Mercedes, checked out, settled up, and made our getaway before anything more could go wrong. Or so we thought. The filling station at which I stopped to refuel has the slowest pumps in the known universe; it took nearly twenty minutes to pump twenty-two gallons of Mobil Premium into Mercy's tank. We spent the next seven miles behind a Coke truck, doing fifteen miles per hour down a one-lane road. Just a grace note for the trip, I suppose.
Home again! Dear old Mount Sinai, Long Island, New York, where the traffic is horrendous, the taxes are extortionate, and all your neighbors are forever in your business. Someone has apparently fed Speedy-Gro to my lawn, which looks like something out of one of Chuck Norris's Missing In Action movies. However, no more siding has fallen off the house, and all our animals are alive and well. I must remember to thank our neighbors for keeping an eye on the place.
Just now I don't plan to leave here again. Ever. The C.S.O., however, is all ready to make reservations for a Columbus Day weekend in Canandaigua. We've been out that way twice already, and only came close to divorce once. What could go wrong now?
Excuse me while I quiver in terror for a while.
Comments
I recommend Japan.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 05/28/2008 at 06:24 PMFran,
Looks as if you have encountered conditions which we noted on our recent 6500 transcontinental road trip. Welcome to the wonderful world of “geezerhood”Posted by ΛΕΟΝΙΔΑΣ on 05/28/2008 at 09:50 PMI’ve noticed that many restaurants are demonstrating the inability to hold reservations (I’m reminded of Seinfeld’s routine about taking them). Four times in the past year, when dining out with my wife, or with our extended families, four different restaurants failed to hold our reservations. It wasn’t too big a hassle when it was just the two of us (we were still able to be seated), but when it’s ten or twelve people…
I’ve heard about it happening frequently to others as well.
Posted by Jim Sullivan on 05/29/2008 at 07:34 AM“eject-a-bed”, I’ve not seen that advertised as an attraction to high-class hotels. hee hee
Sounds like you should have stayed home for your vacation. Hubby pulled out DVD’s of old war movies he had recorded off the satellite Direct TV and saved up for just such an occasion. He went fishing in the Tennessee river, at gourmet meals (well, meals I cooked), watched his movies, played his bass guitar, slept late in a bed that was NOT “eject-a-bed” equipped. He had a lovely vacation.
He’s happy, so am I.
Posted by Debbie on 05/30/2008 at 04:32 PM
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