I’m writing this post from a cute little inn in New Hampshire, where my swoon-o-meter is off the scale and I’m looking into cancelling my return flights home. The past few days have been consistently wonderful and it feels like I’m waiting on a bubble to burst. When I left Oswego on Wednesday, I drove up to Lake Placid, in New York’s Adirondak mountains, as a stopover on the way to my next school and, HOLY ICICLE, it was a sensational winter paradise. Using my thriftiest means, I had booked a beautiful lake-front room with a balcony. The staff also plied me with hot chocolate and cookies as I sat in front of the log fire typing up my blog post the next day. Woe is the life of a research scholar, it seems.
When I did manage to drag myself out into the 10 inches of snowfall, I had a peaceful few hours exploring the village. A classic American main street full of independent stores is one of my favourite things. I have to exercise a lot of self-control in order not to buy a t-shirt for every single town/city/village I visit in the States because I fall in love with every place instantly and am convinced that this one is The One. It’s an embarrassing weakness but a girl has feelings, you know?
Lake Placid has twice hosted the Winter Olympics – in 1932 and 1980 respectively. My interest in winter sports doesn’t really extend much past my deep-rooted love for Cool Runnings but I did take a look around the Olympic centre in town. It wasn’t technically open to the public but there was an ice hockey match that evening and (worryingly?) it seems I am able to pass for a hockey mom.
When I left Lake Placid, the snow was falling heavily, the light was fading and I was slowly losing feeling in my finger tips. According to Google Maps, I had a 2-3 hour drive to my Airbnb just outside of Montpelier, Vermont, but this ended up being a miserable under-estimation! The numbers dwindled away until there was a mere 19 minutes to my destination. It was in this fateful moment that the beast-like Jeep Gladiator gave up on me. In pitch-black, rural Vermont, I juddered to an icy stop on a remote, uphill, mountain road. Obviously, being a rational, understated kind of person, I immediately took stock of my entire life and wondered whether my chubby little corpse would be discovered by a moose or a bear first. (Incidentally, I have never seen a moose in real life. Has anyone? Do they really exist?)
Weirdly, my dramatic prophecy was not fulfilled. Guys, it's AMERICA. Of course a friendly, enthusiastic passer-by pulled up within minutes and helped unearth me (and show me how to activate 4x4 mode...) My hero was a local gentleman who strongly advised that I did not coninue on this particularly precarious route and instead turn around, go all the way back down the road, take a monumental detour, get on the interstate, tap my heels together three times... etc. etc. It took me a further 90 minutes to reach my destination. (Did I mention I had been 19 minutes away?!)
Below: I took this video 5 minutes before I got stuck. Behold! The unique 'side to side tyres' driving technique!
Call me fickle (that would be fair), but my brush with death was quickly forgotten when I arrived at my Airbnb of dreams! Moretown, Vermont is a tiny village (think: an old-fashioned general store, white church and handful of houses) and the house I stayed in was called 'Bird Lovers Haven'. I saw a blue jay! The real highlight, however, was not the blue jay. Nor was it the incredible floor to ceiling windows. No. This house had a TEMPUR-PEDIC MATTRESS. If I were to make a pie-chart that indicated the time I spent in that bed, clutching the remote control, gleefully reclining and elevating, reclining and elevating, reclining and elevating... well, that'd be a big chunk of pie. We have to take our heavens while we can, am I right?
(Coming soon: Montpelier High School)