Saratoga Springs/Amsterdam

July 22, 2009.

Saratoga Springs/Amsterdam, NY.

Many years ago (1970, if I remember correctly), my classmate Raja Rao and I drove across the country. It was the year after we had arrived from India and we believed, at that time, that we would go back after we finished our residencies here. So, we felt that we had to see the country before we went back and decided the best way to do it would be to drive. Raja was in Cleveland at that time. I drove from New York to Cleveland to meet up with him. We then drove west on Route 90, and after stopping at Badlands in South Dakota and Mount Rushmore, we ended up in some small dinky little town that had sulfur springs. Many years later, I went to another sulfur springs during a visit to Israel, at the Ein Gedi Kibbutz on the shores of the Dead Sea. Both these experiences were so enjoyable, that I have an unfulfilled desire to immerse myself in another hot, sulfurous soaking at least one more time before I die. Hence the presence of Saratoga Springs in the itinerary.

After leaving Hyde Park, we drove to Saratoga Springs. On the way, we stopped at Rhinebeck, New York to pick up a sandwich at a place called Bread Alone (another suggestion from Eric, the chef at Le Petite Château). We got ourselves a grilled Portobello sandwich which was absolutely scrumptious. We got to Saratoga Springs relatively late in the evening and found ourselves in a town that was absolutely jam packed because of a rock concert. It took us an unconscionable amount of time to locate the springs. Much to my disappointment, the springs were neither hot nor sulfurous. They were merely tepid mineral waters, that people were collecting in plastic jars to take home with them, presumably to cook with! Sandy reminded me that we have had precisely this experience once before, several years ago when we had driven past that way on our way to Montréal.

Disappointed, we left Saratoga Springs to drive on the Amsterdam, New York, which is where I had booked a room for us at a B&B called the Amsterdam Castle. It seemed interesting on the web page (see picture). What we read about it on the webpage was that it had once been an Armory, and this young couple had bought it and refurbished it as a bed and breakfast. We arrived at Amsterdam when it was still dusk. The town was not prepossessing. It was (or so I imagine) a typical Small Town, USA. There were numerous abandoned factories with broken windowpanes galore, looking sad and bereft. The parts of the town that we drove through were full of minority young men hanging about on stoops. I could imagine that they had no jobs and no hopes for one either.

I got lost. We did have directions to get to the castle, but it was from a different direction and I had difficulty reorienting myself. We finally saw a police cruiser, and I began to follow him, waving frantically. Finally, he must have noticed me in his rear view mirror and pulled over. Before I had a chance to open my door and come out, he began to approach our car, looking somewhat menacing. I rolled my window down and as I did so, he asked (both Sandy and I sensed, somewhat belligerently), what can I do for you sir or what do you need sir? I told him quite politely that we were looking for directions to a place called Ford Street (I knew that the Amsterdam Armory was located on Ford St.). He gave me fairly explicit directions and I felt that I could find my way. He went back to his car and started driving away and I realized he was making the first turn that I was supposed to as well. So I followed him. Much to my surprise, he began to make all the turns that would lead me to Ford Street! Finally, he pulled over just in front of the castle. Sandy and I were both surprised and touched that he had taken the trouble of leading us to our destination. We pulled by his side, lowered our windows, and thanked him. He waved and left.

The castle was charming. Our "room" was really an enormous suite. We had an ante-chamber, with a little breakfast/dinner alcove. This led to an enormous bedroom with a four post bed. The bathroom had an old-fashioned bath on four legs and an additional walk-in shower. Outside our suite was a wide corridor that led to an enormous gym. A pool room was next door to our suite. The next morning, we had breakfast in an enormous dining room on the level above.

The family, the Phemisters, that ran the bed & breakfast were a German man married to a half American-half French woman. The latter was more interesting, chatty and outgoing. The man was somewhat reserved and did not say very much. They were holding an annual picnic for the local soccer coaches and invited us to join them. One of the "local" soccer coaches was a young man from London who had been coaching in the US for the summer on some kind of a work-study program. We had a very pleasant time chatting with him.

For dinner, we walked over to an Italian restaurant around the corner from the castle. We ordered an egg plant Parmesan sandwich to go that we planned to share. Instead of waiting at the restaurant, we decided we would take a short walk. The walk took us past a boccie ball tournament, apparently of the local women's club or something because all of the players were women. We watch them play for a while and by the time we got tired of watching, it was time to go pick up our dinner. We brought in the back to our suite a very enjoyable dinner in the little breakfast/dinner nook. We then decided to get really wild and have a bath in the nice antique tub. Which we did.

The next morning we headed out to Niagara Falls. There is a little town on the New York State Thruway not far from Amsterdam called Canajoharie. Mrs. Phemister had suggested that we should stop in the town because it had an outstanding library and museum, housing the art collection of a Mr. Arkel whose family had started the Beechnut baby-food factory there. So we decided to do that. The museum was quite astonishing in its collection of lovely paintings. Mr. Arkel was clearly not only very rich, but also seems to have had excellent taste. The guard at the museum seemed to know an astonishing amount of detail about the paintings, and explained the provenance of several items to us.

We also wandered through the library, which was holding an exhibition of local painters. Both Sandy and I fell in love with a painting entitled "On the moor" by a local artist by the name of Karen Rosasco. We decided we should purchase it and after we got back to Farmington, we called the library and ask them to ship it to us.

We hit the road to Niagara Falls by midday on July 22.