Mount Washington Hotel, with the eponymous mountain looming to the east
— Photo by rickpilot_2000
From Robert Whitcomb’s “Digital Diary” in GoLocal24.com
I had a few things to do in the White Mountains recently, most importantly, just trying to get away from life in megalopolis.
I wasn’t alone. On my way back to Rhode Island, on Saturday, Oct. 3, I saw vast herds of cars with out-of-state plates, especially Massachusetts ones, heading north. I suppose that many, perhaps most, of the travelers wanted to see this year’s fall foliage. But a simple desire to just get out of town in these COVID-claustrophobic times seems to have dramatically increased their numbers over previous years. It was bumper-to-bumper north-bound traffic on long stretches of Route 93 in the Granite State.
On the mountainous Kancamagus Highway, which connects the towns of Lincoln and Conway, there were long lines of parked cars near the scenic overlooks, though the weather was showery and drought had dimmed the foliage.
My main destination up there was the Appalachian Mountain Club’s lodge in Pinkham Notch, where I have happily stayed many times over the decades. (My most memorable time was as a reporter for the old Boston Herald Traveler in the winter of 1971, when I had to hang around there for several days to cover the drama of a couple of inexperienced climbers (allegedly stoned) lost high up on Mt. Washington in a storm; they were eventually rescued.)
On this visit, I ran into several examples of how COVID-19 has, well, made things less fun.
Some of the most pleasant parts of the complex – library, living room, etc. – are off-limits now. There were virtually no places in which to socialize, unless you stayed in the affinity group you arrived in and so were permitted to eat together. Singles were ordered to sit by themselves, preferably all alone at a long table, or at the end of one. And I missed the cheery Canadians, traditionally big patrons of the place and fun to eat and maybe practice some French with. The pandemic has cut us off from our northern (and better run than the U.S.) neighbor as it has from most other countries.
The most depressing thing, to me, came when a staffer announced the post-prandial entertainment – a film and/or slides (I’m not sure which) about Denali (aka Mt. McKinley) and Mt. Washington. Everyone who wanted to attend had to sign a waiver liberating the club from responsibility in the case of COVID infection. I demurred, not out of fear but out of sadness at the situation and went back to read some short stories by the masterful John O’Hara in my room, which had four bunks but just me.
Another anti-COVID move reminded me of TB asylums before the discovery of antibiotics: The windows in the halls were left wide open, presumably to dilute viruses. So the halls at night were in the 40s or upper 30s. The bunkrooms and individual bedrooms were, however, blessedly heated.
Most of the young staff were pleasant enough though a few were grouchy, probably because of stress. In any event, these are not the best times to go to such places. Wait until a vaccine, and hope the anti-vaxxers don’t ruin everything.
xxx
But I didn’t give up. Seeking another place devoted to “getting away from it all,’’ I drove around to the western side of the Presidential Range to check out the Mount Washington Hotel, in Bretton Woods. This astonishing resort, opened in 1902, in an era of grand mountain and seashore hotels, has always especially catered to the rich, though I saw plenty of people of more modest means there, too.
Its capacious verandas, palace-like halls, lounges, restaurants, bars and views of Mt. Washington, to the east, not to mention golf courses, swimming pools and other sybaritic allures, might make you want to be rich enough to live there – modestly, no more than a three-bedroom suite.
I bought a plastic-wrapped sandwich and a cup of coffee in one of the hotel’s sundries shops and took them out to consume on a veranda, with nap-inducing chairs, that looks toward Mt. Washington, whose upper reaches were obscured by clouds. Still, the view of the back of the vast Spanish Renaissance Revival establishment was a fine show in itself.
No wonder guests and staff seemed a lot cheerier than the folks at the Appalachian Mountain Club, with its spartan ways and situated in a deep, dark valley. Just the fact that there are plenty of places where you can sit on the verandas without wearing a mask raises spirits at the hotel. Or maybe you’re supposed to wear a mask out there but I saw plenty of unmolested people who weren’t.
The hotel guests were less well dressed than you might have expected in such a fancy place. It’s a blue-jeaned world. A hundred years ago you would have seen plenty of men in tails and dinner jackets.
Many, many famous people -- politicians, movie stars, etc., etc. -- have stayed at the hotel over the years. But historically the most important were those who participated in the Bretton Woods Conference, in July 1944, in which representatives of 44 allied nations met at the hotel to lay the foundation for restructuring and overseeing key parts of the world’s financial and monetary systems. The plan was to avoid the mistakes of the Versailles Conference, in 1919, which ended World War I, and the huge monetary and fiscal policy fiascos that followed, which helped cause and worsen the Great Depression, which in turn played a part in causing World War II.
The 1944 meeting created, most famously, the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank, helping to set in motion the longest period of growing prosperity in world history.
Sadly, the current regime in Washington has done its best to undermine the Bretton Woods institutions, opting instead for an intense nationalist/protectionist approach.
I peeked into the “Gold Room,” where the final documents were signed in 1944 on a beautiful round table.
There were lots of New York plates in the parking lots.
Canterbury Shaker Village in about 1920
Heading south, I dropped by another escape place: the Canterbury (N.H.) Shaker Village, a kind of Brigadoon. It was established, in 1792, by the Shakers, a Protestant sect whose members have waited and waited for the Second Coming of Christ, as a religious, residential and occupational refuge. Its 32 buildings, set in a bucolic landscape, evoke the Shakers’ mix of faith, hard work, humility, practicality and craftsmanship.
The Shakers have pretty much died out. One big reason: They practice celibacy – not a good business model for growth! In any case, there are things to admire in their communal living as well as in their care of the natural environment, their lovely architecture and furniture and even some surprising technological innovations, in machinery, etc. They could be remarkably forward-looking.
Visiting the Shaker Village is soothing. Take a guided tour, or stroll around by yourself, checking out such attractions as “The Bee House,’’ “The Syrup Shop’’ and “The Ministry Privy.’’ (Okay, I’m focusing on the stranger buildings.) You’ll feel better.
