Travels With Stu

I woke up this morning thinking that the weather was supposed to be terrible today, and this could be somewhat problematic if I decided to take a road trip, but after a few seconds of consideration I decided to spend the weekend doing a road trip above the Hudson River Valley. This was a noticeable difference for me because by leaving the Hudson River Valley I was no longer in driving distance of a simple day trip from Long Island. By going to Woodstock and then heading further north I would have to find a place to stay overnight, so this delayed my trip by a few hours. After my mom got back from the gym I asked her for some help and she was able to find a cheap motel in Albany with her Teacher discount card, but it was still $50, a price I never pay at hostels.

I packed my bags and was off to Woodstock. The weather was supposed to be miserable and after leaving NYC I experienced some rainfall, but nothing too serious. If anything the rain was more of a nuisance than anything. While driving through the Bronx I noticed that my gas was kind of low but thought that if I left NYC I’d be able to find cheaper gas. Unfortunately I passed the first gas station on the Pallisades Parkway and only had 15 miles left in my tank according to the electronic reader. I drove for another ten minutes without any signs for gas and my gas was falling fast. My car had only reached “O Miles” once before and that was at Kenyon when I was being foolish and had Chris follow me into Mt. Vernon in case my car just stopped. I’ll admit I panicked when I saw it reach “0 miles” and I called my mom seeking advice even though I knew she couldnt really provide anything. If I were in Europe or Asia or anywhere outside the US I would never contact my mom, but b/c she was nearby, or only a phone call away, I made the mistake of calling her and panicking over the phone. A few seconds into the conversation I saw a gas station and told my mom things would be ok…but the price per gallon was $3.20. I thought this was totally absurd but had no other choice other than to pay for a few gallons and leave in hopes of finding a cheaper station further down the road.

One huge reason I’m able to go on these road trips or any trips for that matter is that my mom helps me out with the expenses. During my road trips she’s covered gas while I’ve covered everything else. But recently, partly b/c I’m now a college graduate and I should be taking on more responsibility, and partially that my mom doesn’t want me to feel that I can just leave whenever I feel like it, she’s now limiting her support to one tank a week, which is actually really reasonable, and works out well for me b/c I never use that much in less than a week. So after paying with my own money for a few gallons of gas and sweating bullets as I watched the price increase I experienced something new. I had paid for my first few gallons of gas in my life. Isn’t that bizarre? It made me seriously question how often I wanted to drive my car or road trip b/c I thought it was dumb to spend my money on gas. I expressed these feelings to my mom…

“Stu, if you want to travel, it’s going to cost money. You love to travel and you have a great time doing it, so don’t let it bother you. It’s what you do,” my mom told me over the phone after I paid for my gas. I thought she made a great point, and wondered how weird it would be for me if I just stopped traveling b/c I didn’t want to pay for gas. I paid for plane tickets and train tickets in Europe, but I’ve never paid for gas in the States…weird, I know.

So I continued my drive to Woodstock and drove through some rain showers and made it to Woodstock around 1PM a few hours after leaving my house. The weather was terrible, and after I found a place to park my car nearby a book store I headed inside the book store.

“Do you have any large garbage bags, ma’am?” I asked.

“Sure do, they’re upstairs. You need one for the rain?”

“Yea, it’s kinda bad out there, and was looking for a poncho or a garbage bag,” I responded as she headed up the stairwell. A few minutes later she came down with a black plasticky garbage bag and handed it to me.

“I think this should do,” she told me as she handed me the bag. “Do you need a scissor?”

At this moment, I realized that I would be attempting something I had never done before in my life. I was going to be making an article of clothing. I grabbed the scissors from her desk and started cutting away at the bag making holes for my head and arms. I tried it on and it actually worked, but I looked ridiculous. The bag may have looked ridiculous on me but it almost went down to my ankles and almost all of my pants/legs were covered from the rain. As I left the bookstore I felt very proud of my creation.

I soon realized that I was the only person in Woodstock who thought highly of my rain attire. I received odd looks from people of all ages, shapes, colors and sexes. My garbage bag poncho which was doing an incredible job of keeping me dry was not being well accepted by the rest of the community members, and after walking around downtown Woodstock, and stopping by a museum and fudge shop I made my way back to my car. I got a picture of me with the bag on, and honestly, I don’t think I look that bad, it’s just weird b/c I look like I”m wearing shoulder pads.

I also was somewhat surprised that I was able to stand out in a place like Woodstock, where, in my mind, everyone was supposed to be free-lovin’, chill, easy-going folks, sorta like the Amsterdam of the States, but I definitely made an impression. As I walked through the town I felt an inner pleasure that Woodstock lived up to its reputation in many ways, as I nodded my head in approval when I saw the “Free Spirit Woodstock” sign and “Modern Mythology.” However after 30 minutes of exploring the streets it was time to move on. I stopped by the Center for Photography and the Woodstock Artist’s Association.

Once I returned to my car I removed my garbage bag poncho and found myself completely dry except for around the ankle where water splashed on me as I walked through the town. I grabbed my LP and saw that there was a Buddhist Temple atop a hill in town and nearby the Temple was a path that lead to the peak of Overlook Mountain. As my car reached greater altitudes I felt my ears pop and the air become less dense. My head felt as if it were swaying back and forth, and before I lost consciousness I rolled into a parking area near the Karma Triyana Dharmachakra Tibetan Buddhist Monastery (say that one time fast). To my right was the entrance to the Overlook Mountain path and to my left was the Monastery. It was only mid-day but decided to make sure I climbed the mountain before it got too dark, and grabbed my poncho and murse and started heading up the mountain.

The fall in upstate New York is so charming as the leaves change color and you feel that you’re in a completely new world and NYC and it’s insanity is in another country, and not 100 miles away. I assumed that my daily running regiment would prepare me for the uphill challenge and fortunately it did as I trekked up the Overlook for two hours snapping pictures of the trees to my left and right and the path ahead. There was practically no one else on the trail as I summited the peak of the mountain. This provided a sense of tranquility however it posed a problem for having someone take a picture of me atop Overlook. I learned how to use the self-timer application on digital cameras after my close friend Bryan visited me in London during my time abroad and this usually allows me to capture those unmissable moments during my solo travels. Since the weather was beautiful and I wasn’t in much of a hurry I spent close to 45 minutes trying to take a decent picture of myself and after I felt I had a few shots I started my descent.

I passed through this abandoned and what appeared to be burnt or heavily destroyed structure. It was made of stone or some thick material so I doubt it burned, but it was missing its roof and most of its walls, but in its isolation it looked like artwork as nature seemed to overtake this abandoned heap of stone. It had been drizzling on and off for most of the afternoon but the sky’s cleared up as I felt that I could pick up my walking pace and started jogging down the mountain, due to combination of haste and a steep decline. I got back to my car after passing a few other walkers and headed over to the Buddhist Temple. I had been munching on a piece of peanut butter and chocolate fudge which is not the ideal hiking snack, but I thought I could afford to enjoy myself a little during my vacation.

I headed underneath a massive arch with very bright reds, blues and yellows and Chinese decoration, or Asian decorations which reminded me of my time in Southeast Asia. A little further down I stood in front of a massive building which seemed similar to the Buddhist wats (temples) scattered around Bangkok. I couldn’t enter the temple but decided to take off after a few monks exited the temple and started staring at me. I bowed with my hands in a “praying” position, and quickly said “Saw Wat Tei Khap. Kahp Kuhn Krahp” and scurried to my car. These were the sayings Matt and I memorized during our three week expedition of South East Asia and I thought that it would be the only time I could bust out those sayings for a very long time. I hopped back in my car and began driving down the mountain to my next destination…Opus 40

According to my LP Opus 40 would be closed, but the weather still seemed fine and it was still day outside so I held my breath as I entered the property, and let go when I saw the gate still opened. I followed the road until I reached a very large wooden house that had very interesting sculptures scattered around the property. I parked and my car and grabbed my bag before I was approached…

“Sir, sir!” I heard a voice from behind me. “The park is going to close soon.”

“Ah, man, is that so?” I responded as I shut the car door and started walking towards the woman. “I’m only in town for the day and I really wanted to see this area. Is it ok if I walk around for a few minutes?”

The woman didn’t even put up a battle, and consented to my request asking for $7 to walk around the grounds. I thought the price was quite steep since I could already see a large portion of the grounds from my car, but I thought to myself, “what the hell, I’ll never be back here again,” and paid the money. I was left to walk the grounds at my leisure and I headed directly to this extremely large structure in the backyard. The artist who lived at the house turned his backyard into an art piece. There were bridges and waterless canals connecting and separating large stone structures, and in the center of the “art piece” was a humongous phallic structure that was being approached by the only other people at the sight - a couple. I headed towards the structure, took a few pictures but didn’t bother to ask the couple for a picture of myself and walked around the grounds for the next hour or so, looking for any ways to extend my trip to this sight and get my full money’s worth. The area was actually extremely beautiful but I didn’t know what to make of it as I headed back to my car.

I was about to leave before I remembered the woman telling me there was a museum included in the admission price. I head to the museum (which looked like a huge barn where the Texas Chainsaw Murderer took his victims due to the large round saws attached on its sides and chains hanging around for “decoration”) and entered the building where I inhaled dusty air, and found myself surrounded by even more saws and eery looking objects. I took my pictures and quickly left the premises.

I had exhausted my tourist options in Woodstock and hopped back in my car and started my 30 mile drive to Windham, where I was planning on driving through the town en route to Albany where I had motel reservations for the night.

I never spent over an hour in a car driving 30 miles other then when I was on the Blue Ridge Highway on my summer road trip, where if I drove faster than 10 miles per hour I was signing my life away, but the drive through Catskill Park was very peaceful and beautiful. The day had reached its end and I wasn’t really sure what I’d do in Windham, but LP suggested stopping by if you were a ski-fan, but I had already had my skiing experience in the Swiss Alps, and didn’t think about hitting the slopes. The drive was gorgeous though as I had the Catskill mountains surrounding me on my left and right and I was glad that I hadn’t taken a highway to get to Windham, because once I got to Windham I quickly decided that it was time to leave Windham.

I have to mention that on my drive to Windham I passed through a town called Hunter. Hunter would mean absolutely nothing to me if one of my neighbors and closest friends didn’t have a getaway house in the town. I called him and let him know I was passing through Hunter as he responded, “What the heck are you doing in Hunter?” and sighed when I told him I was on another road trip.

I parked my car at a BP gas station in Windham and started walking down the main drag of Windham, actually it was its ONLY drag. There were a few blocks of commercial stores and restaurants and then a long line of residences for the skiier’s who flocked to Windham in the winter. I returned to my car and continued my drive 60 miles northwest to the state capital, Albany. I had no problems getting to Albany, and once I got on Central Ave (one of the main thoroughfares in the city) I found my Cheapside Motel and checked in.

There was an Indian couple working behind the desk and as I looked around the barren lounge I feared that this may be the last place I sleep in. Hostels are SO MUCH FRIENDLIER AND WARMER. Why?? Because they are filled with young travelers like myself and even though hostels aren’t like the Embassy Suites or any type of luxury hotel, there’s a vibrancy in the hostel that is unmatched in any hotel or motel I’ve ever stayed at. I got my room card and made my way to the room.

I was surprised to have a room to myself and enjoyed the complete privacy which I always lack in a hostel. I had my own motel room and I could do anything I pleased. I grabbed my laptop and took advantage of the free wireless, loading my pics onto facebook and looked up Jack’s Oyster House, where I would be dining for the evening.

I checked my email and freshened up before heading into downtown Albany, and was amazed by the city. It was completely different than NYC and Manhattan, but there was something impressive about its size. For an older city, Albany seemed to capture a traditional American feel that I never felt in NYC or Long Island. It didn’t remind me of Ohio in any way, but there was a sense of tradition that didn’t exist in NYC. I found free parking for my car downtown near the University of Albany and its massive and extremely impressive main academic building that seemed more like a castle than an educational building, and headed into the Oyster Bar.

I don’t usually dine alone, but I was by myself and I had to have oyster’s for some reason, maybe because LP suggested it, maybe because I wanted to treat myself to a fine dinner after an impressive day, or maybe I just thought to myself, “what the hell.” I ordered oysters, and clams and popcorn shrimp that came in a popcorn box with popcorn and made me feel extremely ridiculous and after eating 3 full course meals I enjoyed my banana tempura (or whatever the friend banana desert was called) and returned to my motel room, full, exhausted and excited for the next day in Albany and Cooperstown.

“You’re going where?”

According to Google Maps, there are eight “Hyde Park”’s in the U.S, and that doesn’t even include probably the most famous “Hyde Park” of them all, the one in London, England. To my family and many of my friends, when I told them I was heading to Hyde Park for the weekend they looked at me as if I had ten heads. On Facebook, one of my closest friend’s sister thought I was heading to Cincinnati, OH because there’s a Hyde Park located in Cincy, but I wasn’t heading back towards Kenyon. I was heading further up the Hudson River Valley for a day to get to know the another part of the Roosevelt family, FDR and his family.

Hyde Park is located in the Mid-Hudson River Valley nearby Poughkeepsie, NY. It’s known for the Roosevelt’s and their homes, but the town itself didn’t seem to have much else to offer.

I woke up around 8AM and jumped into the car around 820 to make my 110 mile drive northwards to Hyde Park. Lonely Planet suggested stopping by the town in its itinerary section so I decided that if LP thought it was good enough for them, then it must be good enough for me. Since Hyde Park wasn’t right around the corner, I packed a small suitcase in case I had to find a place to stay for the night, but I thought that by leaving early in the morning I’d have enough time to see the sights and head back to Long Island by nightfall.

The drive was scenic and peaceful, but most importantly, I didn’t get stuck in any traffic. Driving towards Hyde Park was charming as most of the leaves on the trees were changing color and everything seemed beautiful. Once I entered the town of Poughkeepsie less than two hours later I saw signs for Vassar College, where my cousin went who I lived with in NYC last summer, and I considered stopping by the campus, but decided to head straight for the FDR National Historic Site.

I’ll admit that I wasn’t really sure what to expect in Hyde Park. Though I was interested in FDR and American history, I didn’t know if the 100 mile drive (200 total/b/c I had to drive back to LI) was worth it. Thankfully, it was definitely worth the drive, but I started to wonder how far I could drive in NY State for a day trip…100 miles each way seemed to be pushing it.

For some reason I decided to listen to my GPS system instead of following the signs to the “FDR Historic Site” and somehow found myself lost in a few minutes. I drove down a few one-way roads in the opposite direction and managed not to get a ticket nor thrown in jail to my surprise. The town was dead at 945AM on a Sunday morning, thank goodness.

I finally found a sign to the FDR House and five minutes after leaving Poughkeepsie I entered Hyde Park, and a few minutes afterwards I saw the entrance to the FDR National Historic Site and drove down a massive driveway to a parking lot where I parked my car and made my way to the information building to buy a ticket.

“So what’s the best deal for a student who wants to see everything you have to offer?” I asked the white-haired woman behind the desk. I looked around the building and saw many people in their 60’s, 70’s and 80’s and wondered why I was always the youngest person to be visiting these sites. I came to the conclusion that everyone my age was working so they could make these trips when they’re 80, which made me wonder what I’d be doing when I was 80…

“Well, you can get a ticket for the ‘Home Tour & Museum’ & ‘Top Cottage’ for $8 and then you can see the Vanderbilt House for free.” I decided to take the woman’s advice and paid my fare for the Home and Top Cottage, and looked at the floor mosaic of the FDR Estate for a few minutes before the tour guide asked everyone to gather around the mosaic I had already been studying. The mosaic took up a large space of the floor, as I tried to imagine how much money the Roosevelt’s must have had to acquire such a large piece of property. Sagamore Hill, which I had visited the week prior was nowhere near as large as FDR’s home estate, and I thought that it was fascinating to know that FDR’s family owned this much property.

After giving us the intro spiel to the Roosevelt’s we followed our tour guide outside and past a bench with statues of FDR and Eleanor. I took a quick picture as we reached the FDR Museum where we were suggested to stop by after the tour of the home. We also stopped by the area where FDR and his wife were buried and also suggested to stop by after the house tour.

A few minutes of walking lead us to Springwood, or FDR’s home. Springwood was very different than some of the other houses I had seen in the Hudson River Valley, and even though it wasn’t a poor-man’s house by any stretch of the imagination, it wasn’t a Vanderbilt or Rockefeller mansion. However, the house was plenty large and still very impressive. Before entering the house we were told we couldn’t take any photos inside - I’ve been told that EVERYWHERE in NY - but were allowed to walk around the first floor of the house at our leisure examining the different rooms. There was a showcase of stuffed birds which were told FDR had shot and stuffed himself, and after becoming fully acquainted with the first floor we were shown the pully elevator used by FDR after he had polio and told that FDR had the upper-body build of a boxing champion. The second floor of the house consisted of bedrooms and paintings on the wall. I examined one painting rather closely as I tried to figure out where the building in the painting was located because I thought I had seen it during one of my trips abroad, and had an employee come back with more information on the painting, but to my frustration, I was told the paintings had been reorganized and he didn’t know where the subject of the painting we were both looking came from.

Leaving the house was actually a breathtaking experience as the Hudson River was a few hundred yards to my right with trees separating the house from the river. I asked an elderly couple to take a picture of me in front of the trees, which they kindly did, and I made my way back to the front of the house. I stopped by the horse stables, this other building that had the only public restroom in the area, and then to FDR’s grave. The grave was impressively large, but I can only look at a tombstone for so long, so after a few seconds I made my way to the FDR Museum.

The museum had exhibits on FDR’s childhood, his adolescence and his rise to power. I think it’s incredible that one of America’s greatest President’s was handicapped during his Presidency and was still elected to be President for four terms. With television and the amount of attention placed on the physical appearance of Presidential candidates in modern elections, it’d be hard for me to imagine FDR having similar political successes in the modern era.

I felt as if I had seen numerous of the exhibits in other museums because there were numerous parts dedicated to World War II and Winston Churchill, and I felt as if I saw everything London had to offer on both of those topics. However, I thought the 1936 Ford Phaeton car FDR drove solely with his hands was a really cool part of the museum, as well as his White House desk which is supposedly just as he had left it on his last day of work before his death in 1945.

After touring the museum I sprinted to my car because this was the only time I could see the Vanderbilt Mansion a few miles away, and since I had already bought tickets for the FDR House and Val-Kill, I got to see the Vanderbilt Mansion for free and was definitely not going to pass up that opportunity.

After a seven minute drive I pulled into the parking lot and sprinted to the front desk where I frantically made my way to the short line for the tour and begged the woman to put me on the next tour because I had to be back at the FDR House by 2PM for my tour to Val-Kill. Apparently the woman who was giving the next tour of the house turned to me and said that it wouldn’t be a problem and I’d be able to see everything and make the tour. For some reason I trusted her, and a few minutes later my tour of the Vanderbilt Mansion began.

The tour started outside the visitor entrance and made its way along the Hudson River to the massive entrance to the mansion. I learned that all the mansions along the Hudson had much nicer facades on the side of the mansion facing the Hudson because the river was the main mode of transportation for numerous years, and most people would see that side of the mansion. We entered the “house” and told that we couldn’t take any pictures inside (surprise, surprise).

There were a couple nude statues of women near the fire place, and couches parallel to each other a few yards in front of the entrance to the house. The house seemed to be made to look more like a museum than living quarters, but the goal of the Vanderbilt mansion was to look as gorgeous and rich as possible, and they succeeded. There was a living room, a reading room, a dining room, a gold room, a changing room, a bathroom, another living room, and a few other miscellaneous rooms for no purpose other than to display their wealth.

After perusing the first floor of the mansion we made our way to the second floor which mostly consisted of bedrooms. I had some difficulty trying to think of this house as a weekend-house or seasonal-getaway. I couldn’t imagine myself living in a house of this magnitude anyway, but if I did own something like it, well I guess I’d use it for similar reasons as well since I’d probably get lonely living in it by myself.

My time was running out and I was told by the tour leader to follow the security guard downstairs to the basement to see the kitchen and pantry rooms before the rest of the group so I could make my 2pm Val-Kill tour so I headed down with the guard and an elderly woman who had difficulty walking and checked out the basement with the guide’s help in about 15 seconds who met me downstairs.

The guide seemed like a wonderful woman and I wasn’t surprised that she had once been a teacher. She had a vibrant attitude and was captivating in her speeches and was far superior to the numerous guides I had had for other sights in New York. As I exited the mansion I thanked her for her understanding of my situation as she smiled back at me.

I sprinted to my car, which made everyone who I passed look at me as if I had committed a crime or done something terrible and was running to stay free, and then hit the road back to FDR’s House. I arrived at 231PM and ran inside and saw that the tour group was already leaving. I followed the old people out of the visitor center and boarded a white van where a middle-aged woman with brown hair and a brown Ranger uniform asked for my ticket and let me onto the bus.

The drive to Val-Kill, or Eleanor Roosevelt’s Historic Site, was about ten minutes away because we had to take the public road and couldn’t cut across the route the Roosevelt’s took which cut across the woods because that had become a walking path. Val-Kill was a retreat for Eleanor Roosevelt when she needed to escape the public life as well as allowing her to not be overshadowed by her husband. Val-Kill was Eleanor’s own place, and she moved there permanently after FDR’s death. The tour guide stressed how “homey” Val-Kill was compared to Springwood and the other surrounding mansions, and how it made everyone feel very comfortable.

I personally thought it was strange how much the tour guides and guards in the FDR House as well as the Vanderbilt House stressed how down-to-earth Val-Kill was, almost as if the other places I had visited made there guests and inhabitants uncomfortable. I certainly would have been able to find some comfort in the mansions, but I understood their point and kept my thoughts to myself.

Unfortunately not everyone in the group was able to keep their thoughts about the house and what we saw to themselves as I heard the all too common “Ooh’s” and “Ahh’s” which have happened at all the places I’ve been to in New York and on Long Island. I don’t remember these audible reactions in Europe or Asia, or even on my road trip through the States this summer, so I guess NY is the only place where I’m stuck with the “Ooing” and “Ahhing” people.

There was this one woman from Manhattan who came to Hyde Park to get a breather from the city. She was probably close to 65-70 years old, and was really a sweet older lady, but she was one of the most stereotypical New Yorker’s I had ever seen. I felt somewhat uncomfortable and embarrassed that she was what one would imagine a native Manhattanite would be, and it amazed me that I had never ran across a New Yorker who fit into that stereotype as well as this woman did. I thought it was nice that she was coming to Hyde Park for some “fresh air.” I feel bad making any negative comment about her because she meant well, I was just amazed how stereotypical she was.

After examining Val-Kill I sauntered over to its neighboring building, which I forget the name to. I walked in and overheard a woman talking about FDR’s extra-marital affairs and how Eleanor knew about it and still didn’t divorce him. Apparently she demanded Franklin to stop seeing the woman he had been cheating with, which FDR obliged to, but the kicker was this…when FDR died in Georgia, Eleanor found out that FDR’s mistress had just left his side moments before Eleanor had arrived in Georgia. The real kicker to me is wondering how FDR managed to have an affair while he suffered from polio and was stuck to a wheelchair. I guess being President helps out….

I exited the house after hearing the story and made my way down to a river, not the Hudson, and admired the beauty of the scenery. The leaves were changing from green to reds/yellows and the sky was clear and absolutely nothing was bothering me. This feeling of complete happiness and serenity was worth the trip, and I soaked in the moment for a few minutes before deciding to try to to find someone to take a picture of me. I found a this older man who was from Scotland and I mentioned that I had been to Scotland which helped create a small bond for the next few moments. He took a picture of me and I wished him well for the remainder of his vacation. Apparently he was visiting his daughter who lived in New York and he and his wife came out to visit once a year.

I headed back to the bus but couldn’t find it in the parking lot so I walked a few more feet and saw it parked in another location. Apparently I was late for the bus and felt bad for having been the reason for the tour to be held up, but I hopped on the bus and we were off to our final stop of the tour…Top Cottage.

Top Cottage was FDR’s private retreat, and I could imagine him meeting up with his mistress at the house a few times over the years, in between hosting foreign dignitaries. It was at Top Cottage where FDR served hot dogs to the King and Queen of England after they requested to have an American delicacy. Top Cottage was actually designed by FDR, or at least FDR provided some of the ideas, and it supposedly resembled Dutch houses similar to those in the Netherlands.

When we entered Top Cottage everyone was allowed to take a seat on the couches and chairs as our guide gave us some background on the cottage. We then moved outside to the porch where the weather was perfect for the Fall and the scene was breathtaking. The leaves on the trees were changing color, the Hudson River lay below us by a few miles and there wasn’t a sound to be heard other than the sounds of nature…and the tour guide.

“If everyone can please be quiet for a few moments,” I heard our guide request to the group. “I want you to know what it must have been like for FDR to be here during the fall when there was nothing or no one to bother him.”

The group fell completely silent for the next couple minutes as I thought that it was bizarre to think that being surrounded solely by nature was that rare of an experience. Whether I was running through the fields of Gambier, or even in Syosset, or walking through cities throughout the world, I was always able to find a peaceful area at some point along the way. I appreciated what the guide was trying to create, but I thought it was unfortunate that people couldn’t find this experience more often.

After a few minutes we headed back to the bus and made our way back to the FDR Historical Site where I headed back to my car and made my way to my final tourist attraction, the Staatsburgh State Historic Site.

Staatsburgh, or the Mills Mansion, is about 5 miles north of Hyde Park and is an “updated Greek-revival-style building with white columns in front” and “palatial grounds,” according to my LP. I showed up and wasn’t disappointed when realizing that the house had been closed for tours for the day. The Mansion itself was humongous, even bigger than the Vanderbilt Mansion, but the highlight of the house was its “palatial grounds.” I walked along the grounds for an hour or so taking pictures of the Hudson the house and these antique cars that were mysteriously parked in the backyard. I headed down to the Hudson and leaned against the railing checking out the area.

Even though there were people nearby, they seemed a million miles away from me. I loved how nothing nor no one seemed to distract me from looking out into the Hudson. There were a few sailboats still anchored in the water, but the sun was setting and everything seemed so peaceful. With all the stresses I feel I’ve had to deal with since graduating, and especially since I’ve returned to New York in August, looking out into the Hudson seemed to provide something that no one or nothing else seemed to do back in NYC and Long Island. I was free from everything and anything that was bothering me, or that had been bothering me or was on my mind. The only thing I cared about was watching the sun set and taking pictures of the scenery. It was such a wonderful experience I felt upset that the sun would soon set, everything would become dark and I’d have to make my way back home.

I headed back to my car and before heading back to Long Island decided to stop at the “Eveready Diner” which was located between Poughkeepsie and Hyde Park. The “Eveready Diner” was a classic American diner and as I read Ellison’s

Invisible Man

I watched the Jets lose their lead and eventually the game and ate my “Jose Tejas Chicken Sandwich” and drank my banana/strawberry/chocolate shake. I left with a full stomach and just enough energy to drive back to Long Island.

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