“Inspiring You to Reinvent Yourself”
Friends,
Walls of snow notwithstanding, it is time for me to start my travel writing career. I plan to practice on you by regularly devoting posts to this endeavor.
I live in New York’s Capital Region, which stands at the
crossroads (90 and 87) of the Shawangunk, Catskill, Adirondack, Berkshire, and
Green Mountains and en route to New York City, Boston, MA, Burlington, VT, and Montreal,
QB.
I've got access here to local bands, musical superstars, home
grown theater, traveling blockbusters, dance, horse racing, and every sort of ethnic restaurant except,
sadly, Ethiopian. I can shop at a farmers' markets four days a week and indulge my slothfulness at idiosyncratic
coffee shops and drinking holes. An international airport is ten minutes’
drive from my home, yet my backyard window offers a wild things peepshow
daily.
While my travel experiences are geared to what's possible for this energetic fatigued woman, others can easily bike a canal trail, kayak down a
river, bet on horses, drink in the Impressionists, ski the slopes, and sip cocktails lakeside from here.
My affection for this area, rich in natural beauty, kind people, quirky places and cultural marvels, is new. Camping near Ithaca, studying in
Binghamton, practicing a Pepé le Pew accent in Quebec and getting my Om on in Lenox, I always passed through Albany. At Albany's highway intersection, the car turned right, left or not at all. No,
I understood, we’re not there yet. When I found reason to evoke an image of the city, I saw author
William Kennedy’s bone-chillingly gray backdrop for weary souls who clawed at the bar
to slow a slide into despair.
Only one place seemed grimmer than Albany: her abandoned, industrial neighbor Schenectady. So I'll start right here, in Schenectady.
With your indulgence, I will introduce you to her Electric City legacy along with her cafés, pubs, theaters, shops, outdoor spaces, and an oddly tasty thing called a Pickle Back Shot.
These places may be five minutes drive from my house, but they comprise the very stuff of travel the way I like it. I hope you enjoy taking the adventure with me.
Love, Rhonda
Only one place seemed grimmer than Albany: her abandoned, industrial neighbor Schenectady. So I'll start right here, in Schenectady.
 |
| State Street, Schenectady, N.Y. (Michael P. Farrell/Times Union) |
With your indulgence, I will introduce you to her Electric City legacy along with her cafés, pubs, theaters, shops, outdoor spaces, and an oddly tasty thing called a Pickle Back Shot.
These places may be five minutes drive from my house, but they comprise the very stuff of travel the way I like it. I hope you enjoy taking the adventure with me.
Love, Rhonda
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