Still, nothing prepares a visitor for The Sagamore—not “The Sagamore Hotel”; just “The Sagamore”. Say those words, and people know whereof you speak. Built, burned to the ground, rebuilt twice, the hotel is a throwback, an elegant and amazing reminder that wealth will always leave its extravagant mark. The size of the place is astonishing, and there is about it a pervading sense that a luxury liner put in to port and was stranded there. It is a city in white, startling against the blue-green and grey of the surrounding mountains, and the architectural scope of the place is stunning. Five millionaires from Philadelphia created this gated sanctuary in the nineteenth century. Presidents and governors, movie stars and the merely rich have walked its paths and stood gazing at the lake from the building’s porticos and porches, and their spirits seem to whisper still from the shadows in every room.

“Proper dress” is required for dinner, but the reminder is not necessary. There is something about the building standing watch on its promontory in the middle of the private island retreat that makes one want to float in a cloud of silk and tulle; that cries out for a well-cut suit and boutonnière, as if even the furniture would frown at anything less.

As if prompted by the presence of The Sagamore hulking on its island at the northern lake edge, all of the town of Bolton Landing has a classical and ethereal quality. It takes a moment to realize that the signs on the shops all match, all of them carved in the same style and in the same scale, as if one artist had simply announced, “I will do this, and I will do it all my way.” And the flowers! Everyone knows small towns which harbor a square with gardens of some sort for decoration and to break the monotony of concrete sidewalks and store fronts. No one is prepared for the sight of a town entirely planned and planted with the most glorious flower gardens in every possible location. The street lights and signs, the trees that line the main road, the sidewalks and storefronts are surrounded with delicate color from spring through fall. In Bolton Landing, the landscaping is understated but omnipresent, as if the town had been painted in the night by the hand of an Impressionist.