I know, I know. Reading about someone else's vacation is like watching a massage, minus the entertaining ending. But if you think that's going to stop me from nattering on, you don't know me at all.
Two words about Mohonk Mountain House - Go. Now. Yes, it is breathtakingly expensive. Yes, it has a clumsy name. And yes, it. is. awesome. Like hiking? Rock climbing? Competitive mountain biking? Neither do I. But if you don't get misty eyed staring at that enormous, pristine lake you're clearly not human. (I broke into tears three times that first day. My street cred, she's gone.)
Mohonk is not for everyone. It is old. Deadwood old. Our room was built in 1882 and had most of the original furniture, yet somehow managed to avoid the B&B twee that makes me run screaming. It does have Adirondack chairs and s'mores by firelight and lots and lots of good smelling air. You know, if you like those sorts of things.
We chased bunnies and bees and woodchucks through the garden, splashed in the pristine (and heavily lifeguarded) waters at the beach, and kicked it at a spa voted one of America's top 25 by Conde Nast Traveler. (Facial followed by a dip in the outdoor mineral pool followed by magazines by the fire? Why yes, I think I will!) We've already booked next year's reservation. It was that frickin' good.