Rich cultural heritage draws visitors to the Berkshires

NEW YORK (JP): New England fall colors in early November? I arrived in Boston expecting to see bare trees with a few pitiful brown leaves on them.

What was I supposed to think? All the guidebooks' accolades for New England's incredible array of colors all seem to come to a dead stop in October.

Do not believe everything you read. Boston's trees were alight with the most vivid shades of yellow, orange and red. Even strolling in neighboring Cambridge on a drab, cold afternoon, the colors still glowed.

It was not even with fall foliage in mind that I opted for a leisurely three-day New England drive to New York City instead of hopping on another plane. I figured a few days in areas that have a lower density of cranky yuppies in dark suite and cigars must be good for one's mental health.

A two-hour drive southwest of Boston, I arrived in an area called the Berkshires, a cluster of several small towns which brings Norman Rockwell's paintings to life. Not surprisingly Rockwell spent his last years in Stockbridge, an elegant Berkshire village that looks more like a well-crafted movie set than a town where normal people actually do their daily chores.

Stockbridge's four-lane main street consists of a row of white-painted wooden and red-brick cottages, still bearing signs like that of the country store. The scene was immortalized in Rockwell's seminal Stockbridge Main Street at Christmas, a classic print representing the American dream of being wholesome, happy and prosperous, the perfect Christmas-card scene.

One can view the original print and many more of his works at the Norman Rockwell Museum just outside town. This picture- perfect little museum, an elderly guide said proudly, recently installed a swank alarm system, which emits an annoying piercing sound if anybody steps too near to the prints. Being used to, ahem, Jakarta museums, I personally triggered the wail as I peered too close to a painting.

The lush Berkshire countryside was still partially lit by the amazing spectrum of colors even nearing mid November. I thanked nature for still giving me the last glimpse of the spectacle, although the pessimist in me was cursing not being able to be here a month earlier, when the colors were in full blast.

As a botany ignoramus. I was content knowing that the trees carrying the blazing, deep scarlet leaves were maples.

Of course, it was a slight annoyance that I missed most of the events which make the area even more special. This time the guidebooks I read were correct in that most attractions ended in October. In the summer, the town of Lenox hosts the Boston Symphony Orchestra, with plenty of theater from Shakespeare to more modern productions in the neighborhood.

Williamstown, the largest of the Berkshire towns, houses two museums, the Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute and the Williams College Museum of Art. The best thing about these two museums is that, besides having excellent collections, they are both free, a breather after the rather exorbitant prices charged elsewhere in the Berkshires.

The Berkshire area has long boasted having been home to literary giants like Edith Wharton and Nathaniel Hawthorne.

However, one need not be the artsy-fartsy or the ritzy type to enjoy the immense small town charm the area has to offer. It is easy to be allured by the utterly quaint, US$100++ bed-and- breakfasts, but you can get away with less than $50 in the simpler motels.

There is also no need to worry for those cosmopolitan types who cannot go for one day without hanging out at trendy cafes, as there are plenty of them in the Berkshires.

With one more day to spare, I took the long route to the Big Apple by going down the Hudson River. Blessed by a sunny day, scenery doesn't get much better than that of multicolored trees spreading the endless bank of the river, dotted by buildings resembling doll houses. For an especially spectacular vista treat, go across the Rip Van Winkle bridge.

The beautiful site by the Hudson did not go unnoticed by New York's creme de la creme, many of whom constructed their vacation mansions in the area.

Parallel to the 9-South highway, just by the river bank, are a number of estates which are open to the public. One especially scenic one is the Poet's Walk Park, a name which is not overstated as the sight along the path is poetic indeed. The walk takes one from the shady, wooded path right onto the sloping bank by the river.

Then there is the Vanderbilt mansion.

The Vanderbilts were nouveau riche, all right. Think anything in this house was locally made? Everything had to come from Europe and it all had to be expensive, said my guide to the 19th century mansion, Marge Farnett, in her thick New England drawl.

The house's hodgepodge, somber and crowded furniture definitely smacked of the nouveau riche, but I breathed in the fresh air in its lush garden. I needed it before the city, just an hour's drive away, engulfed me.

-- Linawati Sidarto