Beacon, NY

Before taking a boat trip to Bannerman Castle and the outdoor presentation of Camelot, we decide finding sustenance to get us through the day would be a wise thing to do. Trying our luck in Beacon the port for our departure to Pollepell Island and Bannerman Castle seems even wiser.

Saturdays in small-town New York, seem to have a commonality; most restaurants are downtown, there are lots of people, all roads are narrow, and there is no place to park. Our target restaurant is before us, an arrow to our left points down.  We follow the sign.  The parking lot is at the bottom of a very steep hill, a paved space between piles of rubble. 

Michael turns the car around, heading back to Main Street when I say, “If we can walk up the hill by our house, surely we can tackle this one.”

Saturday Lunch

Seated at one of the few tables remaining in the small cheerful space, we are handed FOUR menus; a regular breakfast menu, a special breakfast menu, a regular lunch menu, and a special lunch menu. It’s going to take me thirty minutes to decipher all of this, and because of today’s schedule, it will probably be our only meal. Perhaps that is a good thing. Michael orders a grilled cheese barbecue beef sandwich. I choose a salmon BLT with avocado and eggplant fries; I’ve always wanted to make them myself. This will be infinitely easier.

Finding the Ferry to Pollepel Island

At 1:30 pm, Michael wisely suggests that we find the area where we are supposed to catch the ferry to Pollepel Island and a parking space as close as we can get to the dock. Google Maps says we are five minutes away. This should be a piece of cake, but the ferry line’s instructions say not to rely on our GPS or Google Maps—they will take us to the wrong place.

Following written directions, we find that roads are blocked, and we have to take a detour. Cars line both sides of every road we drive down. We need to get to the harbor. Something is going on, but what?  All of these people can’t be going to Bannerman Castle. At least I hope not.

Michael finagles our way around the blockade, taking back roads that get us above the train station’s parking area, which is supposed to be right across from where we catch the ferry—the first dock. The parking lot is gigantic. There are people everywhere. There are cars everywhere, and there isn’t an empty slot in sight. We keep driving. Finally, finally, at the very end of the commuter parking lot, we see space, but the sign says permit parking. Michael goes and investigates just what a permit means and how to obtain one. He discovers Saturdays are free.

It is 2:05, an hour before the ferry leaves, but we are afraid to give up our parking space—traveling in Europe may have been easier. As we walk toward the commuter train station, the couple behind us speak in a language I don’t understand. 

I look at Michael, “Where are we anyway?”

Not Your Ordinary Ferry Dock

I stare at the tiny inlet before me and wonder how we are going to manage boarding the ferry. I am distracted by the sound of distant music, discovering a beer festival further down the harbor. The real harbor.

With time on my hands, I sit and think about things and our ultimate destination, Bannerman Castle. It was a serendipitous find I stumbled upon while exploring the possibility of cruises on the Hudson. Leave it to Google to let me know that people who searched for Hudson River Cruises also searched for the following—and there were pictures—a ruined castle against a brilliant blue sky. How could I resist?

Once on the castle’s website, I discovered a benefit tour which includes a production of Camelot.  Even though our journey started at 11:00 am, we won’t place a foot on the island until after 3:30 pm, and we are only an hour from home.

I am more than a little excited and full of anticipation.

Bannerman Castle

Stepping off the rocking ferry onto the island dock, we are confronted with an eighty-four step climb to the top.  Faced with the inevitable, we begin. Once at the top, we walk down a small path and listen to a brief history of Bannerman Castle. There are lots of rumors, lots of lore, but the truth is hardly romantic; the castle was a warehouse for surplus military equipment, arms, and ammunition.  Construction was begun in 1901 and ceased at Bannerman’s death in 1918. The entire island, the castle, and the residence were abandoned in 1950; severely damaged by a fire in 1969, the weather and neglect have taken their toll. I knew some of this; Michael knew more—his research was extremely in-depth.

We explore this island, mostly rock, and on the way to see the gardens and residence, we pass by the stage where Camelot will be presented.  My suspicions about this not being a full-blown musical are confirmed when I see the size of the stage and the microphones and the chairs lined up along the back. Apparently this will be more of a reading than a musical production. I’m still excited to see what awaits is. I notice other people have saved seating.  Before continuing our exploration, following their lead, I choose two seats for me and Michael.

The paths we take are anything but straight and smooth. The steep route undulates, climbs, crawls, and dips, descending into a trail where rocks and roots and dirt and gravel fill the way. There are a plethora of broken steps.

Camelot – The Musical

We snagged the best seats in the house (loosely speaking). They would be referred to as box seats in a real theater, and Michael can even stretch his legs.  He buys an arm’s worth of raffle tickets for charity while we wait for the second boat of spectators to arrive.

I’m charmed. The costumeless, well-cast actors are the individual they portray. They do not stand stiffly in front of a mic but rather whirl from one to another and back again. The singing is quite wonderful; the two leads having portrayed infamous characters on and off-Broadway in shows like The Phantom and Les Miserables.

I tell Michael that I want to come back for Poe’s Last Mystery on October 1. The program notes say,

“Edgar Allan Poe, desperate and destitute, has agreed to read from his poems and tales of mystery on Bannerman Island. During the day, characters from his stories will make surprise appearances and Poe’s sanity is tested as each visitor seeks revenge on him. Both entertaining and enlightening, this will prove to be the eve of Poe’s mysterious death.”

I’ve always loved the dark mysterious depths of Poe—a fan since I was a kid.

“Once upon a midnight dreary…”

Sunday Lunch

It rained last night.  It is raining this morning. What to do, what to do? I tell Michael, “It is your day—you decide.  We traded, remember?”

“But, I paid for the meals.  It’s your day.”

1 pm finds us winding our way through the Catskill’s, trying once again to have lunch at the elusive German restaurant tucked far away from the beaten path.

I read the Internet, scoping out their website in great detail, but the closer we get, the more nervous I become. “They are SUPPOSED to be open,” I say.

Michael raises his eyebrows.

We turn left, and there it is, and there are cars in the parking lot! Inside, the considerable space has numerous tables seating six to eight that line each side of the wall and fill the space by the bar—they are ready for a party—but are barely occupied; it is, after all, a rainy damp, dreary Sunday afternoon in September.

There is music, and people dance—all types of people from young to old, professional to novice—and one sweet gentleman dances with his walker.  While listening to the music, he can’t control his feet, they begin to tap, and he cannot sit still. After several bars of each song, he is up, clutching his walker, shuffling along, making enormous circles and squares—his partner never faltering.

I think I love him.