Heading Back to My Roots at Syracuse’s Hotel Skyler

Take a chunk of Vermont and plop it down in the Gulf of St. Lawrence and voila, you have Prince Edward Island. This sylvan setting lends itself well to road biking, especially in the fall when the summer crowds are long gone and the maples provide a colorful backdrop. The Canadian Pacific railroad that once connected Prince Edward Island’s small villages last roared through the interior in 1989, leaving in its wake hundreds of kilometers of track. By 2000, the tracks were pulled and the line replaced with a surface of finely crushed gravel, creating a biking and walking thoroughfare called the Confederation Trail. Crossing the entire island, the trail starts in Tignish in the west and rolls 279 kilometers to the eastern terminus in Elmira. One of the most scenic stretches starts in Mt. Stewart in King’s County along the sinuous Hillsborough River. You’ll soon reach St. Peter’s Bay, a large inlet dotted with mussel farms and lobster traps. After crossing a bridge that rewards you with glimpses of the island’s fabled red cliffs, you’ll arrive at the rolling Greenwich Dunes, a perfect place to bring that picnic lunch. Stay at Inn at St. Peters, a favorite stopover in PEI for many of our clients.
"Towards you, towards you, pull it towards you," my father yells to my mom, referring to the tiller that sits on her lap. We’re aboard my dad’s 22-foot Catalina, sailing at a good 10-knot clip across the cobalt waters of Lake George on our way back to his dock. Mom’s steering, dad’s barking orders, and I’m on the bow of the boat, ready to jump onto terra firma, but first I have to listen to my parent’s banter, a routine I’ve witnessed far too many times.
“What the hell are you doing? Aim for the house,” my dad bellows, pointing to a small white house that stands on the hillside above our dock. My father’s voice always seems to rise a notch or two in volume every time he steps foot into his sailboat. That’s usually what happens to former Lieutenants in the Navy. They resign their commission in the military, buy a small boat of their own, and quickly ascend to the rank of Admiral. Nevertheless, my mom always remains as cool as the water in this lake, easily gliding the boat into the dock without a scratch. Once the lines are tied, she stands up, and ends with the tag line, “not bad for a Bronx girl.” “Yeah, not bad,” my father mutters back, forgetting that Mom also taught him how to drive.
Those two paragraphs are the first words I ever wrote on Lake George, for a magazine called Endless Vacation back in 1996. Both my parents are gone, but I have incredible memories of our family sailing, paddling, and boating this 32-mile gem in the Adirondacks. And I continue to create new memories. This week, I’m traveling with my brother Jim as we kayak around the Sagamore, boat with Ron Miller aboard his 1971 Lyman, and take a paddlewheeler cruise aboard The Mohican.
I’ve been sailing the waters of Lake George before I learned to walk, or so I’m told. Growing up in these sylvan surroundings, I took its beauty for granted; the verdant mountainside that slopes to the lake’s edge on either side, the pine-studded islands that provide perfect anchorages for boaters, the narrow width that’s easily mistaken for a long rambling river. Working as a travel writer, I’ve had the good fortune to visit many of the world’s most famous lakes—Tahoe, Como in Italy, Taupo in New Zealand, Lucerne in Switzerland, but given the choice, I’ll take Lake George on a weekday (on summer weekends, the influx of motorboats and jet skies makes the lake seem a lot smaller). It’s the reason why “Sailing Lake George” topped my list of “5 Family Adventures Not Soon Forgotten,” my most recent article on the lake in a March issue of The Boston Globe.
This past January, almost exactly a year ago, my family spent several weeks in Israel. On our final day, we drove south of Jerusalem past Bedouin villages into the rolling hills of the Judean desert. This is where you find the mountain fortress, Masada, known as the site where the Israelites committed mass suicide rather than serve as slaves to the Romans in 73 A.D. Climbing Masada is a rite of passage for most people heading to the country. Fortunately it was January, so the heat wasn’t too bad as my daughter Melanie counted all 865 steps to the summit. As a reward for the hike, we brought the kids for a swim in the Dead Sea, the lowest point on Earth. It was late in the day, the waters were rough, and we forgot our towels. No one seemed to care as we floated in the salty sea, staring at the mountainous ridges of Jordan on the opposite shores. See the full story in The Boston Globe.
Sunday was already a celebratory day for my family as we gathered in New York for our niece, Sarah Schechter’s first art opening. The exhibition is on view at the Greenpoint Reformed Church in Brooklyn, 136 Milton Street, through December. So if you’re in New York, please have a look at these skillfully rendered, vibrant and often whimsical sketches and paintings from her life. Adding to the excitement on Sunday was a Boston Globe story about the rise of the travel agent that included quotes from Lisa and me. We were interviewed for the story several months ago, before our trip to southern Africa, and forgot about it until seeing it on Sunday. It was a nice surprise. Paired with the wonderful story from Moira McCarthy on ActiveTravels in the Boston Herald earlier this summer, we feel incredibly fortunate to be recognized. It only helps to legitimize the company when people search for a travel agent in that great big space called Google.
There was a time when the west coast of Oahu was only visited by surfers bound for Yokohama Bay and hikers heading to the spit of wilderness at Kaena Point. This is the sunniest and driest part of the island, where steep cliffs plummet to the blinding white sand beaches. Then JW Marriott made the bold move to build their 387-room property, the Ihilani Resort and Spa, on the remote leeward coast. In 2011, Disney followed suit and opened their first resort not affiliated with a theme park. Called Aulani, the property helped spur on travel to Oahu, especially at a time when many families found the resorts of Waikiki to be dated and chose instead to head to the Hawaiian islands of Maui, The Big Island, and Kauai. The two resorts are now part of the umbrella Ko Olina Resort and have been joined by two other properties, Marriott’s Ko Olina Beach Club and Ko Olina Beach Villas.