David Thomas Garren
Google
Four stars, because the house itself is absolutely stunning—and I managed to make it out without being mistaken for an international art thief.
Yesterday’s destination was Kykuit—a Gilded Age estate perched dramatically above the Hudson, built for oil tycoon John D. Rockefeller. It’s the kind of place that feels like a dream carved in stone: elegant, enormous, but somehow still inviting. Unlike most mansions of the era that scream “please don’t touch anything,” this one—lived in until the 1960s—actually feels like someone might still be home… in a silk robe, sipping brandy. (Although, obviously, you still couldn’t touch anything. Let’s not get crazy.)
Photos inside were strictly forbidden—which was unfortunate and a little off-putting, especially since so many historic homes are moving toward encouraging it. The interiors are exquisite, but you’ll just have to take my word for it.
The grounds, though? Unreal. Sculptures tucked into quiet corners, grand fountains, flawless lawns, and sweeping views of the Hudson and Palisades—which, by the way, Rockefeller casually purchased and preserved like a true billionaire environmentalist.
Now, here’s the reason for the missing star: the security vibe. I was in a very small group—maybe 7 or 8 people—and we were being headcounted constantly, like someone might vanish into the hedges with a Tiffany lamp. There was a bag check at the front door. And at one point, I accidentally wandered into what looked like just another part of the garden (maybe 25 feet from my group) after being told to “explore” and suddenly several guides descended with walkie-talkies like I’d breached the Queen’s panic room. One of them actually said, “He’s off the tour,” which is how I found out 25 feet was “off the tour”.
I totally understand the need to protect the estate, but the whole thing felt a bit like touring the Capitol from The Hunger Games—all elegance on the surface, but with an unsettling sense that security was one misstep away from swooping in with a net. Beautiful? Undeniably. Memorable? Of course. But it’s hard to fully enjoy when you feel like you’re being watched by invisible drones.
Okay yes, I’m being a little dramatic—but only because I’ve never felt this on edge at a historic estate. Even Chatsworth, home to the actual Duke and Duchess of Devonshire and basically the Beyoncé of British country houses, was warm, welcoming, and didn’t make me pass through Checkpoint Charlie just to glimpse a side table.