Many of you know our trips to NYC are quite brief (about 36 Hours), which means we never have the time to venture far from Manhattan. But due to our late night departure to Iceland, we hopped a Metro-North train to the sleepy town of Cold Water Springs, a cute little tourist spot about an hour and a quarters’ ride from the city.
With just over 5,000 residents, this is quintessential small-town America, with flags waving from the porches of many rustic 19th-century buildings. You can walk everywhere, so no need for a car. Main Street, just a short walk from the train station, is lined with interesting antique shops, specialty galleries, and local cafes, including Cathryn’s Tuscan Grill where we lunched alfresco.
A few blocks up the street at Marina Gallery, I met Steve Dreyer, a New York based photographer displaying work he called “New York Reimagined.” The images were traditional cityscapes, creatively blended with textures making them feel more like art than photos. They got me thinking about my own portfolio, and ways I might differentiate images from the masses. He has been a photographer for over thirty years, and shows no signs of slowing down now. It was a treat chatting with him.
Further down Main Street, I split from the family who were camped out at a little park, and made my way to the Cold Water Spring Cemetery. Overgrown with grass, I walked among the dead and felt unusually peaceful. I leisurely read tombstones and thought about the illusion of time. We are here but a blink, yet never disconnected from the infinite.
I reconvened with the family near the train station where we walked down to a lookout point of the mighty Hudson. We couldn’t have asked for a better day, until we decided it was time to get back to the city to catch a taxi to the airport. At the station, we learned that a large boulder had come loose a few miles from Cold Spring and rolled onto the tracks, putting them out of commission.
Apparently this kind of thing happens only once in a blue moon in small-town America, because what at first seemed like a minor delay, quickly escalated into a mess that threatened our Iceland trip. The plan was to train it to the next city over, hop buses to another train station, and then make our way back to Grand Central Terminal. But when our train rolled into Garrison Station, I knew it wasn’t good.
Hundreds of people stood in long lines waiting for buses, while fire trucks and ambulances were on sight in case of reported injuries (thankfully there were none). We immediately spotted two taxis and knew we had to get one if we were to make our flight. With four other strangers, we piled into a minivan and convinced the driver to take us all the way to Manhattan to save on time. Nervously we checked our watches, but the comforting souls of our travel mates eased our concerns and we safely made our flight to Iceland. Had fate not intervened on our behalf, no question we would not be enjoying Iceland right now.