The Slow Escape: Callicoon Hills Resort in the Catskill Mountains

Where Stillness Becomes a Luxury // 

The moment we pulled into Callicoon Hills, the pace of modern life dissolved like sugar in hot tea. Tucked in the Catskills, our Lake House suite gave us a front-row seat to the mountains—quiet, majestic, and completely unbothered. The interiors struck that perfect balance between rustic soul and boutique hotel charm. Nothing was precious, yet everything felt curated. You could sink into this place and disappear—in the best way possible.

The Slow Escape: Callicoon Hills Resort in the Catskill Mountains – Wellness Travel with Photographer Maxwell Alexander

Berry Mojitos, Spicy Margaritas, and That First Deep Exhale

Within minutes of arrival, we were perched on the Conover Club terrace, berry mojitos in hand, the sun grazing the tips of our shoulders.

A round of spicy margaritas followed, chased by the kind of laughter that only happens when the weekend officially begins. The seasonal flatbread was more than a snack; it was a reset. With every bite and every sip, we landed more fully into this new rhythm.

Follow the Lights, Find the Magic

As dusk painted the hills, we wandered the winding paths up the hill, guided by strings of twinkling lights that felt like breadcrumbs from some enchanted tale. The A-Frame cabins stood like a quiet little village tucked into the trees, each one a geometric poem of solitude. They weren’t trying to impress, but they absolutely did.

Firelight and Ferocity

The fire pit was crackling with all the right intentions. We huddled close—not out of necessity, but ritual. There’s something primal about a fire in the woods. And yes, someone did show up in a wool blanket and cowboy boots like it was a Vogue shoot in Montana, and no, it wasn’t me. (Okay, it was me.)

The s’mores kit appeared like magic—chocolate, graham crackers, marshmallows, and skewers ready to go. Roasting one over the flames, watching it blister and bubble, felt like a sacred ceremony of indulgence. Sticky fingers, gooey smiles, and that unmistakable scent of singed sugar in the Catskills air—pure, unfiltered joy.

Where the Disco Ball Hangs Like a Moon

Just when you think you’ve figured this place out, boom—there’s an events barn with a disco ball hanging like it owns the sky. It shimmered above rows of rustic beams like Studio 54 took a country sabbatical. The space is raw and refined, ready to host a wedding one weekend and a queer pop-up cabaret the next. It’s not trying to be cool. It’s just effortlessly, unapologetically itself. And that, my dear, is the kind of luxury you can’t fake.

Wildflowers and Water Whispers

The next morning, I tiptoed through the dew-soaked footbridge, past a meadow of wildflowers that looked like they'd been painted there by a watercolor artist on mushrooms.

Down by the creek, ancient ferns framed the scene. It was just me, the gurgle of the water, and the realization that this was a meditation in motion.

A Soft Morning Served Hot

The café welcomed us with bagels that were still warm and coffee that didn’t ask for sugar. Birds chirped with Broadway-level energy, and then—oh yes—the fog. Like a silk scarf being teased off the shoulder of the lake. It rose and danced across the pond, catching the morning sun like it knew exactly how gorgeous it looked.

Poolside Bliss, With Beats and Biceps

By noon, the pool scene was in full swing. The bartender—her—slung drinks like a poolside priestess of pleasure. She handed us Palomas that glittered in the sun like summer itself. The DJ wasn’t dipping into retro crates—this was all crisp, current pool party energy. Think tropical house, splashy vocals, the kind of sound that makes you smile without trying.

The Real Wellness: Do Less, Feel More

This isn’t the kind of retreat that screams wellness with white robes and green juice. No, it whispers it. In the design, in the pace, in the way you forget your phone exists. It’s an exhale disguised as a weekend.

Even the Sauna Has Something to Say

Later that night, we found the cedar barrel sauna glowing like a secret in the woods. The steam wrapped around us like gossip and sweat, and for once, we didn’t try to escape the heat. The stars overhead winked approval. We stayed until we were soup.

Stretch, Sweat, and Surrender

There’s a gym here, and a yoga deck too—but don’t come looking for your old routines. Movement here is a love letter to your body, not a punishment. I stretched beneath the trees, arms wide like I was trying to hug the Catskills. Honestly, they hugged back.

Hammock Philosophy 101

Want enlightenment? Get into a hammock. Somewhere near the pond, I melted into one with coffee in hand and the wind threading through the trees like it was composing a lullaby just for me. I didn’t nap. I floated.

Design Is the New Therapy

Everywhere you look, design holds your hand—textured woods, low lighting, thoughtful objects that feel both curated and lived in. Even the bedside lamp looked like it had a backstory. This place isn’t decorated. It’s authored.

Fog as Performance Art

Let’s talk about that morning fog again, because honestly, it deserves its own spotlight. It didn’t just rise—it performed. Slow, deliberate, flirtatious. A soft veil over the pond that made everything feel cinematic and sensual. Nature serving main character energy.

Leaving Without Really Leaving

We packed slowly. Everything in our bodies begged to stay just a little longer. And even as we drove away, windows down, playlists low, there was something still clinging to us—a softness, a shimmer, a new definition of enough.

Callicoon Hills isn't a resort. It's a recalibration.

A slow-burn love affair with stillness, comfort, and pleasure—served with forest views and the best damn cocktails north of 42nd Street. Book it. Breathe it. Be in it.

Leaf-Peeping, Luxe Escapes, and Everything In Between

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