What's glamping Daddy? Let's see, it's basically where you have a doorman for your tent. Or a flapman anyway. You know, like the opposite of actual camping, which is kind of the fifth floor walkup of tents. If you're still confused here's a quick test: if your campsite doesn't have a smores sommelier then it's probably normal camping. Here's another test: if Mommy is in the tent it's definitely glamping.
On the way up the Hudson Valley the Rocking Horse Ranch makes for a good half way stop. It's about as close to a ranch as Olive Garden is to the Italian Riviera but hey, it's got paddle boats.
And the Caboose Who Got Loose.
Next stop, The Collective. By the looks of the parking lot it's lucky the tents are pre-assembled and the BBQs pre-heated. Because it's the kind of crowd where roughing it is having to take the subway. Plus, what kind of camp site has a golf buggy to take you to your tent?
The Collective is basically Brooklyn in tents. I mean even the name has a whiff of Gowanus coop crossed with a faux-dusty copy of Marx that's only ever used as a cold brew coaster.
Daddy, I thought you were going to teach me some bush craft? I am son, come on the bar tent is this way and they do a mean Bushman's Old Fashioned. The juniper bitters really do invoke notes of, you know, real camping.
Daddy, when do we chop the firewood? Well, if you mean the cherry wood chips the chef is using to infuse the dry aged ribeye with that authentic wilderness aroma then I think they come pre-chopped direct from that artisanal wood chip purveyor in Greenpoint.
No outhouses. Cheers to that.
A couple of plump marshmallows like these will go down well when paired with organic Graham crackers and micro-batch artisanal chocolate.
So if they fire up the BBQ for you, cut the seasonal veges for you, and sea salt the grass-fed rib eye for you what else is there to do? Why take the Instagram of course.
Is this a campsite or an Instagram set?
So did I tell you the one about the Manhattanites who thought they were camping?
Let's see if we can spot any bacon sizzling up at the mess tent.
Daddy you mean we have to walk all the way to the dining tent? Can't we use Uber to call that golf cart?
There's only so much curated wilderness you can take before you've got to get off the hashtagged path for some real hiking.
Is this an actual waterfall or part of the set?
Bartlett House, and old railway watering hole from the 1800s has been resurrected as an oasis of cold brews and hand-crafted sandwiches. Because you know, the world is full of dismal sandwiches crafted by, uhm, foot?
Nothing brings out the taste like redundant adjectives. Hand-sautéed collard greens anyone?
Oh look, they were kind enough to put up the #nofilter filter for us.
Just when you thought the vintage Brooklyn bookshop vibe was all style and no substance.
Now there's a quadruple word score if I ever saw one.
Someone call the bellman, if I wanted to see frogs I'd venture into the uncharted wilderness of Central Park.
Art Omi is the kind of art gallery where running in the galleries is encouraged.
Daddy, this kind of looks like a sign. Yeah, we could have seen one of them without getting out of the car.
Daddy, these installations are a bit obtuse. That's right Pip, it is indeed greater than 90 degrees but less than 180 degrees. I sense a great college in your future. The fields surrounding it even look a bit like this. But with sheep.
