After about a 2-hour drive north of New York City into the Catskill Mountains, I drive through New Paltz, over a small bridge that spans a picturesque snow-covered river. I take the left-hand turn at the sign pointing toward the lodge, give my reservation information at the guest house, and hug the gently winding curves up the mountain. The fairytale castle in a hodgepodge of architectural styles looms impressive and large as I pull up to the valet queue in front of the modest stairs at the entryway. The vibe of the guests milling among the bell carts is more ski casual in midafternoon than resort chic, and service is friendly, fast and laidback. My room isn't ready since I'm a bit early and the hotel is mobbed with midwinter-ers, so I check my bags to do some exploring.
After milling around taking in the lay of the land--a series of convoluted warren-like stairs, sporadic alcoves, eclectic artwork, and twisting corridors, I am enjoying a cheesy melty panini in the cozy Carriage Lounge when I get a cell-phone call from reception that my room is ready. After a quick check-in and welcome, I climb the stairs to the fourth floor with anticipation, and key in (literally--no electronic key cards here) to my lakeview king-size room. I quickly take in its rustic comfort, but the woodburning fireplace and view of the lake blanketed in a layer of snow topping a thick crust of ice tips the scales toward luxury and romance. The view from the balcony is refreshing and relaxing with the crisp mountain air and distant sounds of cross-country skiiers making merry as they come back from the trails and morning doves cooing in the lodge's eves mere feet away from my own perch in the cool mountain air.
Tearing myself away, I head down to the ice skating pavilion and gear up in the small shop/changing room next to the rink. I make a somewhat wobbly entree onto the ice and skate off into the fray. Nonskaters huddle clustered for warmth in front of an enormous fireplace built into the wall of the shop, and the views of the lodge across the lake are equally amazing when you circle back in the opposite direction.
I reluctantly drop off my skates and head back to prepare for dinner in the dressy dining room. The service in the restaurant is friendly but professional, and the Tasmanian salmon the waiter recommends is the standout--milder and creamier than the wild Pacific-catch or farmed versions most of us in the U.S. Mid-Atlantic are accustomed to.
Staff deny any relations to The Shining -- though the rumor mill alleges Stephen King is a frequent patron of the resort -- but as I got back to my room and found my key not working, two mysterious not-quite-twins carrying identical oversized tote bags appeared at my side, pulling out a master key to let me into my room, after making a call to verify my ID. I did some stargazing from my balcony while waiting for a bundle of wood to be delivered, and cozied up in front of the firelit hearth for the perfect end to a wonderful day. Already I am dreaming of my return trip, possibly in spring when the ground has thawed, or maybe summer when the mountaintop is in full bloom and crickets fill the night with music....
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