Long ago on a coast far away…

Due to technical difficulties, these pictures from our Northeast trip are a bit behind schedule.  That time seems so long ago now.  Despite all my whining about getting rained on, I’d welcome a downpour in this 100+ degree heat.

 

First Row:House of the Seven Gables, Bewitched Statue in Salem, rain in Plymouth

Second Row: More Plymouth rain, Baywatch: Cape Cod, Sara’s artsy Cape Cod fence shot

Third Row: Falafel fun at Mama’s, Sara’s Amontillado reenactment, Horizons gourmet plate, and my Rocky moment at the Philadelphia Museum of Art

Change of address

Yesterday, we arrived in California with the cat intact.

Fun without the cheese steak

It was a gray morning in The City of Brotherly Love.  We headed off on a 1.5 mile jaunt to Independence Hall with just a few sprinkles along the way.  As we were waiting in line, a park ranger pointed out some birds on the weather vane.  “See that up there?” he remarked.  “That’s a red-tailed hawk.  We got two of them that swoop down sometimes and pick up mice.”  

We looked up along with the sensibly-dressed German tourists sitting next to us.  “Looks too small to be a hawk,” I said quietly.  

The German guy took a look through his well-endowed camera.  “Those are pigeons.  He should have said eagles at least.”

Way to represent America, ranger dude.  First GW said that Saddam had weapons of mass destruction and now this.  Good thing we still have David Hasselhoff.

The tour through Independence Hall was interesting.  Although I didn’t have quite as many preconceptions (i.e. the Pilgrims and buckles), it seemed like once again the elementary textbook view of history is filled with bunkery.  Our tour guide was an extremely cynical fellow and seemed to take special pride in debunking folklore.  The forefathers didn’t actually sign the Declaration of Independence on July 4, the bells didn’t ring when this happened, nobody really liked John Hancock, Thomas Jefferson’s draft needed lots of proofreading, and hardly any of them wore wigs!  That last mythic tidbit can be traced to the fact that nobody wanted generations to know the truth–that our forefathers were really the originators of the bad combover.       

However, our ranger seemed to bite his sarcastic tongue when it came to George Washington.  Here was a guy that even King George came to admire.  Here was a man who could have become America’s king, but he gave up power voluntarily.  Here was the first and perhaps only truly non-partisan politician. 

After the tour, we headed over to the Liberty Bell.  This was actually more interesting than I thought it would be.  The bell itself was really no big whoop, especially since it was surrounded by a huge group of kids in yellow t-shirts.  However, I did find the displays about its history rather captivating–particularly about how it went on tour across the country.  It was the Miley Cyrus of that time, but with a much less creepy father.

Following a whirlwind tour of the US Coin Mint, we headed for lunch at Charles Plaza Restaurant.  This was another place I found via Google.  Despite its terrible name, I had read outstanding reviews.  The restaurant strives to create healthy Chinese dishes with fresh ingredients.  The majority of dishes use soy, gluten, or seitan as alternatives to meat.  We feasted on vegetarian versions of won ton soup, sesame chicken, chow fun, orange beef, and General Tso’s chicken.  It was so good that when we opened our fortune cookies they said, “You will want to write a really complimentary blog about this restaurant.”  The lucky lotto numbers didn’t work out so well though.

After that, we took a jaunt to the Edgar Allan Poe House.  Unlike the Emily Dickinson House and Old Manse which try to re-create the authors’ lives through informative guides and period furniture, the Poe House is devoid of any furniture and encourages you to use your imagination.  The paint is peeling, the floor is uneven, the fireplace is falling apart–but this lack of packaging made it quite appealing.  My second favorite part was going into the cellar and imagining him coming up with “Cask of the Amontillado”  My favorite part was sitting in a parlor room and listening to a recording of “The Raven” read by Christopher Walken.  You’re jealous aren’t you?  I know.

A bit tired from all our walking (but not our Walken), we returned to the room for some relaxing.  That evening we headed over to a fancy vegan restaurant called Horizons.  It was a cozy setting, with a classy yet non-intimidating atmosphere.  Sara dined on avocado soup and palm heart cakes, while I feasted on grilled spinach and a black-pepper tofu steak over black bean and seitan tostada.  Or something like that.  It was artfully done, and good, though certain dishes seemed a little on the bland side.  One great thing was the fact that it was surprisingly filling for high-end food.  So much so that we couldn’t even get any fancy dessert though we had planned to.  

We rolled ourselves down the streets of Old Philadelphia and I watched the NBA Draft when we got back.  I came in on pick 20 or so.  That shows how much I love my wife.  I had access to cable TV on the night of the NBA draft and I decided to take her out to a fancy dinner instead.  I know I know.  I’m expecting my husband medal anytime now.

The next day, we took a blazing hot walk up Philadelphia’s fountain-lined Benjamin Franklin Parkway to visit the Philadelphia Art Museum.  The Rocky statue was surrounded by a group of bikers, so I took a picture from a distance.  Even though I haven’t seen any of the Rocky movies, even the ones with a non-alien-looking version of Sylvester Stallone, I still ran up the steps and did the obligatory celebratory pose.  It was a real dilemma, but I chose to hum Duh nuh duh, duh nuh duh instead of Eye of the Tiger.  We enjoyed the amazing collection of art at the museum which ranged from Picasso to Pollack, from a Japanese Tea House to a Hindu Temple.  I would tell more, but this blog is longer than a Philadelphia championship drought.  If you really want to know Philly, you best take your bad self there.

Rocky Start

The day started dubiously enough.  The campground’s coin operated showers gave me about 5 minutes of hot water while sporadically spitting Laodicean water at Sara for ten.  I would not classify myself as a “high-maintenance” person (anyone who saw any of my apartments as a bachelor can attest to this), but I am a marshmallow softy when it comes to showers.  I need me some warm water in the a.m.

The drive down to Philly wasn’t cream cheese smooth either.  First, we got a bit disoriented in Providence before eventually finding a decent yet unspectacular breakfast.  Sara offered to drive after Providence, but we weren’t able to find a rest area to switch back before we reached New York City.  So the wife had fun with some bumper to bumper in Queens.  Although she had to get a towel to wipe the sweat off her hands, she gamely handled it.  

We switched driving duties once we got into New Jersey, which by the way does smell like garbage when you cross into it.  Aside from the whiff upon entry, NJ driving was smooth.  Then we arrived in Philadelphia.

We had directions for our lodging which was right in the heart of the city.  We also had a map.  Sara was also navigating like she was on On-Star or something.  Unfortunately, downtown Philly has virtually no street parking so we circled around looking for a parking lot or garage.  This would have taken about 5 minutes if I wasn’t so cheap.  The first lot was $18 a day.  A few blocks down $24.  Th next $16.  Our lodger had said there was one for $12 and even gave us the address, but it turned out to be $19.  Eventually, we found a lot with ghetto overtones that charged $10.  Since we would have to pay for 3 days worth, we took out everything of value and rollered our way to El Accomodation.  

This whole saga probably took about 30-45 extra minutes.  It was stressful with all the pedestrians, cars, and one-way streets plus it was hot and humid.  Combine this with less than thorough showers and some musty camping gear and you can imagine the hygienic picture that we had become.

Eventually, we made it up to our lodging–an apartment that was basically being used as a bed and breakfast.  No bells and whistles, but it had air-conditioning and a great location in smack dab downtown.  Our blood sugar was low so we decided to remedy that.  Before we left, I had googled “vegetarian restaurants in Philadelphia” and was amazed with the options that I found.  The closest location that popped up was Mama’s–an Israeli restaurant that served some falafel that would leave even the biggest schmutz feeling verklempt.  Best falafel I’ve ever had.  And I’ve had some good falafel.  Behold the power of chickpeas.

After that shot of nutritional Prozac, we happily walked around the Rittenhouse Square neighborhood, admiring City Hall and checking out a few stores.  We then headed back to chill out in the air-conditioned apartment.  Sara did her guest blog, and I watched coverage of the then-upcoming NBA draft which I’m totally obsessed with (sidenote: Blazers and Nets were big winners).  

Unfortunately, the forecast indicated thunderstorms for the next couple days.  We hoped that the showers in Philly would be as sporadic and short-lasting as our coin-operated ones had been.

Pilgrims don’t buckle up

There are a few things you learn very early on about the Pilgrims.  They came over on the Mayflower.  They got a lesson in corn planting from Squanto.  And they most definitely wore buckles in odd places.  So imagine my surprise when we got to Plimoth (not Plymouth) Plantation, and there was not a single odd buckle to be found.  You really can’t have a good day when your world gets turned on end like that, and day 4 was definitely the least enjoyable of our days.

It all started with a beautiful car ride through Boston and over to southeastern Massachusetts.  It was sunny and the traffic was flowing like Cristal at a hip hop party.  But once we neared Plymouth, it got all nastycloudyrainy again.  As we pulled into the parking lot of Plimoth Plantation (it’s spelled differently since it is in a different location than the original), we felt Pilgrim-esque hope as the sun broke through and the rain abated.  Unfortunately, our 5 minutes of sunshine were spent purchasing tickets and watching the orientation video.  If you are ever in our boat and want to enjoy your 5 minutes outside, here is a short synopsis of the video.

1.  Pilgrims and Indians are different.

2. Don’t call the Indians Native Americans.  Call them Native People.

3. Don’t try to talk to the Pilgrims about your bedazzled iPhone.  They will act like they are in the 1620s.

4.  Don’t talk insensitive junk like asking the Native People what percentage native they are, saying “how” when you greet them, or if they knew that one guy from the Village People.

We sought shelter in the Wampanoag longhouse.  It had a few leaks, but was overall very warm.  The workers were friendly and treated us to a few Wampanoag songs.  

After that, we headed over to a smaller dwelling that had more leaks.  The thing that stood out here, was the worker who was trying to light a fire with a bic lighter.  She also didn’t seem to be too concerned about the veracity of her information and gave off the “you’re kind of stupid for asking such a stupid question” vibe.  She also shared her political views and how Hillary Clinton got the shaft.  It made me wonder which candidate carried the Native American…Native People vote in this election, and if any candidate even attempts to listen to their views.

After a less than puddle-wonderful sprint (think puddle supbar), we reached Plimoth plantation.  First stop was at the church/meetinghouse where a buckle-less actor talked about William Bradford being strict and how everybody was dressed like a heathen.  Up on top of the second floor of the church was a cluster of cannons.  That would be an interesting experience.  I can just imagine walking up to the balcony to find a seat because I got there late, and seeing a bunch of machine guns pointed out the window.  I’m guessing the Pilgrims just had a rather whimsical interior decorator who liked the word play between cannon and canon.

On to the rest of the plantation, which is a carefully constructed model of the original.  Complete with livestock, gardens, and fences, someone really could live there.  The houses were actually a little nicer than I thought they might be.  A thatched roof over mud-covered logs, dirt floors, a single bed, and a few pieces of furniture.  The furniture was surprisingly ornate for people who only had a small ship to travel on.  The homes were especially dark, with few windows to let light in.  The experience made me rather keen to the joys of fire.  Any house that had a fire on was quite pleasant and a handy way for drying sopping jackets.  I’m sure you did not want to be the guy who put the fire out while trying to douse your overcooked cheesy pita.

Although the character actors in the village were a bit more clued-in than our one Native friend, it became a bit redundant to see similar house after similar house.  Of course, the whole experience would have been much more enjoyable if we had been able to leisurely stroll along as opposed to the dart and cover method.  The food court meal of overly-doughy pizza and strange-tasting buffalo chicken sandwich didn’t help things either.  However, I did feel a little weird complaining about low-quality overpriced food when the Pilgrims would have killed for that meal (literally, they would have had to kill their own chicken).  

So after a couple hours of being sponges of both knowledge and precipitation, we decided to attempt to set up our campsite.  In the rain.  Again.  However, as we got to our campground, we saw that sunnier pastures lay to the south and east of us toward Cape Cod.  We had not planned on making it out to the cape, but we figured it would be more enjoyable than sitting in our car waiting for the rain to stop.  After burning gas getting lost, following signs for a Farmer’s Market that never materialized, and me driving up the exit of a gas station and having to park on the sidewalk as cars zoomed by, we regretted our choice.  Things only got worse when our camp stove merely gave out heat in sporadic belches as we tried to boil noodles.  The soggy noodles combined with Beezelbub’s biting sand flies made for an unimaginably romantic dinner.  

On the fortunate side of things, the weather was rather nice and we got to enjoy a walk along Sandy Neck Beach just a little before sunset.  The less than ideal conditions also made for an uncrowded beach, which I hear is not typical for a Cape Cod summer.   

That’s all for now pilgrims.

Rain in the town of witches

So we’ve been busy packing for our move tomorrow, and we’ve gotten a little bit behind in the blog.  In case you were wondering, we did not get stranded in Massachusetts, though we did get quite wet.

After Concord, we headed over to Salem to see more Hawthorne schtuff.  Unfortunately, we arrived during a rush hour rain storm–which is a rain storm where the rain falls on you as fast as Jackie Chan’s fists and lands about as loudly as Chris Tucker.  Seriously though, Salem traffic is terrible.  I’m guessing their court system has gotten soft since the town’s early days, and people just do whatever they want.  In the early days, failure to put your blinker on would result in being pressed to death.  But since that doesn’t happen any more, our result was more wait rather than more weight.

We found shelter at a decent, but not great Thai restaurant hoping the rain would stop.  Nevertheless, we trekked our umbrellaless behinds all around Salem.  Most things had closed by then, but we managed to see the outside of House of the Seven Gables, the Custom House where Hawthorne worked, the Salem Witch House, some really old churches, and the controversial Bewitched statue. 

I have to say that the town has gone overboard with the witchy theme.  The crosswalks are painted green with a witch on her broom, they have stores that sell witch costumes, they have a museum about witch lore, and they play “Witchy Woman” on loudspeakers around the city 24/7 (okay, one of those is made up).  Couple that with the Bewitched statue which is actually really small, and it seems like they sold out.

I mean the Salem Witch Trials were a dark and regrettable part of our history.  That’s like the Germans marketing the holocaust.  It basically rewards a place for an atrocious past.

Despite all the rain and my moralizing, we had a decent time and the drive back took about one tenth of the time it did to get there.

On to the Pilgrims.