The Bridges of Lancaster County: Shoofly Pie, Whoopie Pie & Pretzels, Pennsylvania, April 2012

28 Apr

Friday 27th April 2012 – It is rapidly becoming clear to Charlie and me that four nights (even on our limited schedule) is simply not enough time in which to do everything we want to do in Philadelphia. I don’t think we’d really given much thought to Philadelphia; it was on the way from Washington DC to New York, and we knew that we wanted to run the Rocky steps and see a bit of Pennsylvania, but apart from that I think we had a bit of a ‘meh’ attitude. Hmmmm. Note to self: never underestimate this city again. There’s still so much to do! Tomorrow is going to be another busy day….!

Today our day started once again with gourmet breakfast at the guesthouse (more brioche!), and then we made the short walk to the Avis at the Hyatt Regency to collect our hire car. The plan was to spend the day in Lancaster County, west of Philadelphia – also known as ‘Pennsylvania Dutch Country’ due to the concentration of Amish, Mennonites and Brethren (is that the correct term?) living there. The region is known for its slower pace of life (the Amish steer clear of technology and modern trappings, and still travel in horse buggies) and for its delightful food, so we knew it would suit us to a tee. A lovely lady called Miss Cynthia (this according to a young man present, who seemed to know her) sorted out our paperwork, and not long afterwards we were fiddling with the GPS in the car as we cursed its inefficiency on the streets of Philadelphia! In the end we stopped listening to the robotic woman and used a paper map we’d collected from the guesthouse, and once we left the bounds of the map we just followed our noses to Lancaster, the westernmost town on our itinerary for the day. The initial journey took about an hour and a half.

The sky goes on forever out here.
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, 2012

If I were to give a summary of the day upfront, I would have to say that the thing that hit me most was the sheer beauty of the area. Less than two hours out of a major metropolis, you find yourself gazing across rolling hills of lush, verdant green, passing grain silos and barns that are straight out of a storybook, all white or red in stark contrast to the bright blue skies and fluffy clouds dotted in the sky. The colours look like your camera screen when it’s set to ‘vivid’, but they are in fact real. Glance across a field, and you see it being tilled by a team of horses or oxen, a man in a large hat riding the old-fashioned rattling metal contraption behind them. A bunch of schoolchildren run out of their one-room school and sweep by, pushing old-fashioned scooters along with one leg, and a small girl in a billowing dark dress and a white cap toddles behind her mother, who is identically dressed. As you near a creek, you spot a deep brown covered bridge, the middle dark and cool and tunnel-like, and you have to proceed slowly because the horse and buggy in front of you is making slow progress. If it weren’t for the 4WD vehicles roaring through it occasionally, one could imagine they were back in the 1800s. In between food stops, we just spent our time in awe of the beauty of it.

A farmer tends his field the traditional way,
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, 2012

Anyway, our first destination was Lancaster city. It was actually a fairly big place, bigger than I had expected, filled with large brick buildings and traffic. Our main purpose for visiting was to find the visitor centre to get maps and more information; we knew which townships we wanted to visit but were still unsure of actual destinations. Parking was scarce, so in the end we did a couple of loops in the downtown area and I hopped out of the car outside the visitor’s centre, ran in and grabbed info while Charlie drove around the block. The man inside was really helpful and thrust a stack of maps, information sheets about food and covered bridges, and two packets of salted pretzels into my hands before waving me out the door. Charlie swooped round the corner and I leaped into the car; we then managed to actually find a parking spot in a back street and loosely planned a route based around bakeries and bridges before leaving Lancaster, southbound. On the way out, we passed ‘Champ’s Barber School’, where a bunch of young guys were hanging around outside one-upping each other… or so it seemed!

Taking a side road off Route 222, we found our first covered bridge of the day – Kurtz’s Mill Bridge. It was my first and favourite. It was in a quiet little neck of the woods and there was nary another soul to be seen. It was short, but a beautiful shade of brown with a peaked roof. We parked the car a little bit down the road and wandered back up to the bridge. Everything was so green. I could barely believe my eyes. In this hushed little bit of forest we admired the rushing river underneath, and enjoyed the creak of our feet on the wooden boards, and had to convince ourselves to leave afterwards! I felt like I had walked into a beautiful painting; it took a little while to get rid of the feeling that an ugly vehicle might swoop around the corner at any time. It was like our own little secret; I’m so glad we went.

Kurtz’s Mill Bridge – such a beautiful place,
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, 2012

From there we drove down Eshelman Mill Road, admiring the scenery, until we hit the more populated Route 741, where we turned eastwards. We passed the Australian Outback Inn Bed and Breakfast (what on earth was it doing out there?), and then drove through the town of Lampeter. Lampeter!!! Anyone who knows me will know that I spent three years of my life (while at University) living in a hicksville town in Wales called Lampeter, and even now I have mixed feelings about the whole experience! Driving through the ‘new world’ Lampeter was actually quite a pleasant thing to do, and not dissimilar to the original Lampeter, although the houses weren’t as grand in Wales! After passing Lampeter we turned right onto Bridge Road and visited the Neff’s Mill Covered Bridge, which spanned Pequea Creek – it was just a drive-past as we had nowhere to pull over, and this time the bridge was surrounded by farm buildings. It is apparently the narrowest in the county, at only 11 feet wide.

Strasburg Country Store and Creamery, filled with all manner of edible delights,
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, 2012

Leaving the bridge, we headed directly east to Strasburg. The road into town was filled with mind-boggling houses; everything from grand old dames to tiddly little weatherboard shacks, all with rocking chairs on their porches and American flags flapping in the breeze. So damn picturesque! Once in Strasburg, we parked the car and went straight for our destination – the Strasburg Country Store and Creamery, famous for its kickass ice cream! After the lovely woman behind the counter had explained their sundae menu, Charlie ordered a ‘Piggyback Sundae’: a milkshake topped with an ice-cream sundae…! Diabetes, anyone?!? I had a Belgian waffle with two scoops: Chocolate Oreo, and black raspberry, smothered in home-made butterscotch sauce. Holy moley. I asked for it without cream, but when she brought it out she put her ear to it as if it were saying something. “What’s that? Aw, your poor little sundae looks so sad without any whipped cream!” I acquiesced and she squirted a goodly-sized amount of cream on it, and she was very happy that my sundae was happy! What a nice lady.

After gorging once more, we made our way to the back of the store where they were pouring fresh fudge from a giant boiler onto a spreading tray… we tried a sample of the chocolate fudge and it was just delicious. The rest of the store was filled with various types of candy, pretzels (the dark chocolate ones were salty and divine!), spreads and jams. I tried some of their butterscotch peanut butter, which was much better than it sounds!

Herr’s Mill Bridge,
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, 2012

Heading east out of Strasburg, we passed their train yard, full of antique train carriages and massive engines. A tourist train leaves here and does a loop of about 9 miles, but we decided to continue on our merry way. We turned left up Paradise Lane, heading down the backroads yet again for another covered bridge – Herr’s Mill Bridge, which is no longer in use; it has been replaced by a more modern, concrete bridge to its left. This bridge was a long one (“double length”), and right next door to it was a stone house with a waterwheel dipping in and out of the meandering little river. Wowee. They sure do know how to make the heart ache here with their architecture. The bridge was blocked off halfway along, but a jolly little sign read: ‘The Kissing Bridge – PLEASE – Walking or Horse-Drawn Lovers Only.’ Sigh. 🙂 Here we met a young man called Ariel, an 18-year-old Alaskan who has made it his mission to visit all of the United States in 52 weeks; he was on Day 61 and Pennsylvania was his 11th state. He was thoroughly enthusiastic about his couch-surfing experiences and wanted to visit all the state Capitol buildings; his aim is to get into politics and be able to know what he’s talking about when he talks about the different states. One can’t help but admire his enthusiasm; I hope he gets through all the States! If you want to see what he’s up to, have a look at http://www.arielacrossamerica.com/ I took a couple of pictures for him on the bridge, and then he was on his way again. Good luck Ariel!

Our next destination was the Bird-In-Hand Bake Shop, situated just north of the town of Bird-In-Hand. What a great name for a town! This largeish store was filled with all kinds of produce but we made a beeline for the freshly baked goods, and after much deliberation we decided on a sampler pack of all their most famous traditional items. For later consumption (the ice cream in Strasburg had just about beaten us), we bought a Red Velvet Whoopie Pie (mini cakes in the shape of cookies, sandwiched around sweet cream – usually made with leftover cake batter but now famous in their own right), Shoofly Pie (tarts filled with sugar and molasses, so named because the flies all wanted a bit before refrigerators came along), Chocolate Shoofly Pie, Apple Streusel and a Sticky Bun (covered with thick burnt caramel and pecans). We wrapped them up and kept them in the car for a late-night snack. Wheeeeee!

Our next stop, as if we hadn’t already had enough food, was the famous Bird-In-Hand Farmer’s Market. A bright indoor market filled with hustle, bustle and delicious smells, it contained all kinds of fresh produce, meats, cheeses, breads and other local goodies, some of which were sold by Mennonite farmers (at least, I think they were Mennonite; they had the long beards but were using cash registers and so on… hmmm. I’ll have to do some research into that). I sampled some meatloaf, caramel and cheese popcorn, raspberry key lime jam, home-made black bean salsa and a bunch of other stuff that escapes me now, but all of which was delicious. Sadly, I didn’t buy anything as I don’t have a kitchen at present, and won’t have one for at least another two or three months, so all the condiments had to be put aside!

I’ll never be too old for naughty toilet humour! Intercourse, tee hee hee!
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, 2012

We then continued our eastward trajectory to the unusually-named town of Intercourse….! Oh, the tasteless jokes we made. “I’m right in the middle of Intercourse!” “I had a long day in Intercourse and now I’m spent!” “Intercourse, where you can get soft and hard… pretzels!” My favourite was the tourist-office-issued pamphlet entitled “Guide to Intercourse: Slow Down the Hurry”. Surely they must know how that sounds?!? Or am I the only one with a dirty mind?!? Geez. Anyway, our store of choice was the Intercourse Pretzel Factory (snicker, snicker, snicker), where we tried a couple of the local delicacies – traditional soft pretzels. One was a ‘brown butter’ variety (sprinkled with rock salt) and the other was a ‘Sugar & Spice’ number – dipped in butter, cinnamon and raw sugar. We only managed a couple of bites of each, but they were really good. Charlie’s hands were positively covered in sugar by the end of it!

Unbelieveably, at this point we decided it was time for dinner. We hadn’t really had anything substantial to eat since breakfast, except for ice cream, and I think our bodies were actually crying out for a bit of nutrition! We decided to backtrack to a place we’d seen earlier called ‘Plain and Fancy‘, about halfway between Bird-In-Hand and Intercourse. It turned out to be a large complex filled with opportunities for buggy rides and a replica Amish homestead; we went inside and both ordered salads… green food! I had a side order of sweetcorn fritters that came with maple syrup as a dip – it was surprisingly good. My Southwest Salad came with grilled marinated beef, greens, corn, salsa, black beans, grated cheese and a dollop of sour cream in a red tortilla bowl; Charlie had the same but with chicken. I could almost hear my body thanking me for the vitamins!

A horse-drawn buggy about to cross a covered bridge – about as scenic as it gets!
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, 2012

We skipped dessert, hopped in the car, and started the drive home. However, it was still light and after consulting our maps, we couldn’t resist the draw of one last bridge… dorks! We found our way onto Belmont Road and made for Eshleman’s Mill Covered Bridge, also known as Leaman’s Place Covered Bridge and Paradise Bridge. The view behind this bridge led up a hill and over green farmland, and the bridge itself was russett-brown/red. In and of itself it wasn’t spectacular, but we happened to be following an Amish horse and buggy as we crossed it, and got a little thrill as we saw this episode of life carry on much as it already has for hundreds of years.

Beware! Buggy Crossing!
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, 2012

Finally, we got onto the road home. We mostly stuck to Route 30 instead of the I-76, which we had used to get into Lancaster; this route, instead of being a freeway, was a smaller road and led us through other towns and suburbs, and back through the northern edges of the Brandywine Valley onto the I-76 again. We passed what may have been the last cherry tree in America with its blossoms still intact (whoopee!) before hitting traffic just outside Philadelphia; not unexpected, but yuck. We re-entered the city and went in search of petrol (passing a pet store called ‘Doggie Style’ on the way… blimey) before dropping the car back at the rental place at the Hyatt. Sigh. The end of another brilliant day.

It was getting dark by this time, so we stopped by the waterfront at Penn’s Landing, admiring the Schuylkill River (loosely pronounced ‘school-kill’, apparently), a nearby battleship (!) and the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, all lit up, before walking home. Bypassing the complimentary 8pm cookies, we grabbed a hot chocolate and went up to our room to devour all the baked goods we bought in Bird-In-Hand. The verdict? Well, I took a bite of each, and I think that the apple streusel was probably my favourite – not a predictable result at all! After a quick Skype with some precious people in Brisbane, it was time to catch up with my writing, and now here I am ready for bed. Tomorrow: more adventures in Philadelphia!

Thanks for stopping by,

Tara.

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Cheesesteak Judging and Banana Split Shock, Philadelphia, April 2012

27 Apr

Thursday 26th April 2012 – Well, after all that ballyhoo yesterday about our luxury lodgings, Charlie and I got a bit of a nasty shock when the scurrying of a nocturnal visitor disturbed our reverie last night! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our room was invaded by a mouse. There we were, lying in the dark, and in the silence there was a ‘rustle, rustle, squeak’… the lights were flipped on, shoes were whipped out, and we lay in wait for the little blighter to make an appearance. Luckily for him, he was smart enough to stay hidden. I have to say, though, that it wasn’t a surprise; we’re in the old part of town, and this house was built in 1796; it’s only to be expected. In the end we just decided to pretend that it hadn’t happened, and managed to get a good night’s sleep. I just pray that tonight I don’t wake up with a rodent on my face!!!

Mouse invasion aside, we went downstairs to the breakfast room this morning and it was back to the lap of luxury: were treated to fresh brioche with boiled eggs, cereal, yoghurt, fruit salad and a selection of cakes, muffins and croissants. I tried a slice of a berry muffin with vanilla icing, which was just delicious; I really had to exercise all my will-power not to keep eating everything in sight!

Thanks to the rubbish weather today, we changed our plans slightly to involve more indoor activities; we decided to explore South Philadelphia, which turned out to be a lively combination of Italian ethnic neighbourhoods and young hipster enclaves. We walked southeast from the guesthouse in a zig-zagging pattern, just picking any roads that took our fancy. This first took us through more of the historical district, revealing cobblestoned lanes full of grand old brick houses. We came across one called Powel House, apparently the former home of Samuel Powel (Philadelphia’s first mayor after the revolutionary war), which had a beautiful little kitchen garden at the side leading to a larger green with statues in it. George Washington was a frequent visitor to the house, and we took a few moments to picture the scene as it might have been at the time (“Oh look dear, Washington’s turned up again, better put the kettle on!”) before walking on.

We passed by The Ugliest House In Existence (possibly) somewhere in our wanderings, too; a custom-made iron fence had been made, probably at great expense, and showed dogs chasing cats chasing birds chasing mice. It was supported in its ugliness by statues of bronze dogs and lions growling in the background. Just goes to show that money doesn’t buy you taste!!!

Front entrance of the Philadelphia Magic Gardens,
Philadelphia, April 2012

We finally hit South Street, the ‘Promised Land’ of funky boutiques and cafes, only to find that everything was shut until midday – apparently they’re too trendy for mornings! 🙂 It being 10:30am, we decided just to keep walking until we found the ‘Philadelphia Magic Gardens‘, the magnum opus of a local artist called Isaiah Zagar, and a big feature on our ‘to do’ list. His murals and sculptures dot the entire South Street corridor, but when we finally got to the Gardens there was no mistaking that we had arrived at our destination. It was a vision of colour and chaos; broken plates, bottles, tiles and bicycle wheels mounted together with thousands of pieces of broken mirror to create a mind-boggling display of light. One can only imagine how long it took him to put it together, and whether he planned it or whether it just came together organically. Here there was an old doll; there you could spot a smashed teapot, broken bricks and parts of what was once a fan. In some ways, it reminded me of The Crazy House in Da Lat, Vietnam: it was almost impossible to make sense of it but there was something very attractive about it. I suppose one can only admire the passion it took to get something like that finished. We wandered up and down the decorated concrete staircases, marveling at the insane angles on everything, and ignoring the rain that fell on us as we did so.

Sculptures at the Philadelphia Magic Gardens,
Philadelphia, April 2012

Outside, an elderly gentlemen saw us admiring the view and snapping photographs, and stopped to talk. It surprises me how eager Philadelphians are to be polite, and to stop and chat. Drivers acknowledge pedestrians; people stop on the pavements to let other people pass, and every time I hear an ‘excuse me’ and a ‘thank you’. Not what I normally expect from a big city! A man stopped to let me pass on a busy street and when I said thanks, he replied with an enthusiastic, “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” My little heart melted! Anyway, as I mentioned, a spritely-looking elderly gentleman stopped us for a chat; he was wearing a black leather jacket, black leather shoes, khakis, a jaunty little cap and a gold earring in his left ear. It turns out that he was over 80 but he was still a bit of a dandy, and had a killer smile! He was amazed to find that we were from so far away, and was simply delighted that we had come to his city, where he had spent his entire life. He told us about the best places to eat cheesesteaks and gave us a few other tips, including the fact that we should see the Eastern State Penitentiary (now closed and a tourist attraction) at some point. Then he casually dropped into conversation that he had ‘spent time’ there way back when, and Charlie and I both struggled to keep our jaws from dropping. Eastern State Penitentiary was no walk in the park – they put the hard-core guys in there and the Quakers gave them a terrible time! The jail was essentially closed in the late 60s, so he must have been a young man when he was there. Killer smile, indeed. Yikes!

The happiest dog in the world – 2 people petting him at once! Outside Liberty Bellows, ‘Your One Stop Accordion Shop’,
Philadelphia, April 2012

From the Magic Gardens, we started walking south to the Italian Market. We passed a garage door painted bright yellow with the Batman symbol on it (sweeeeeet), and I spotted a great bumper sticker: “Republicans For Voldemort!” Snicker, snicker, snicker. We stopped outside an accordion repair shop (who would’ve thought that such a place would still exist?) to spend some time with the owner’s disgustingly cute French bulldog, who was ridiculously affectionate. He absolutely lapped up the attention and both Charlie and I had to drag ourselves away from the plump little fella!

We knew we had entered the Italian Market proper when we could smell bread baking and garlic wafting from different windows and doorways. Sarcone’s Bakery rubbed shoulders with Ralph’s Italian restaurant; old shopfronts sold dried fruit from jars; fishmongers shouted out their stock; fresh pasta was everywhere; vendors sold fruit and vegetables right from carts and tables on the street. I studiously avoided entry to all the chocolatiers for fear of temptation! We stopped outside a provisions store called Di Bruno Brothers and I nearly had a heart attack just looking at the selection of cheeses in the window. Yummmm. The Italians know how to eat, that’s for sure!

Our main mission in this neighbourhood was to settle (for ourselves, anyway) a huge dispute that has wracked Philadelphia for years: who really makes the best Philly Cheesesteak sandwich?!? The two main contenders, Geno’s and Pat’s King of Steaks, have been facing each other down from opposite sides of a crossroads for 70-odd years. There is no middle-of-the-road for locals – you go to one, or you go to the other, but never to both. A Philly cheesesteak is basically what it sounds like – a sub roll filled with fried steak slivers, cheese and onion. We planned to order one from each place and decide for ourselves which was the best.

The battle rages on… a bona fide Geno’s Philly Cheesesteak sandwich.
Philadelphia, April 2012

We started at Geno’s, a brightly-lit, flashy-looking place at the northern end of the 9th St/Passyunk junction. The tables are outside, and the walls are plastered with photographs of fallen police officers and police patches from all over the country. A poster next to the counter where you order reads: “This is America. Order in English.” Yikes. Anyway, I did as they requested and ordered in English (!); the woman gave me a selection of three cheeses and I just asked her what she liked best. She said that Cheez Whiz (ugh) was the most popular, so I went with that. A few seconds later I had the sandwich in my grubby little mitts; Charlie and I split it down the middle. I have to say, it was pretty damn good. Thin slivers of meat, a nice crispy roll; it was flat but tasty! We licked our fingers greedily and then snuck across the road to Pat’s, hoping nobody from Geno’s would notice us and start a turf war! Pat’s is a fairly simple affair, nothing flashy – just a white counter with more outside tables. Charlie ordered this time, and in the name of fairness we ordered exactly the same thing – Cheez Whiz and onions. Again, we split it down the middle and the difference was almost immediately obvious – there was more meat in Pat’s, and it was a bit more fatty which gave it a bit more oomph. They had also been more generous with the “cheese”. And so, after polishing off our second Philly cheesesteak sandwich, Charlie and I both voted Pat’s King of Steaks as the winner. Please don’t hate me, Geno’s-loving Philadelphia!!! 🙂

The opposition: a Pat’s King of Steaks Philly Cheesesteak sandwich.
Philadelphia, April 2012

Full and contented, we waddled back up the road, through the market again, for the long walk back to South Street. By this time, all the shops had opened and we whiled away a couple of hours just pottering in all the too-cool-for-school little boutiques. We went to another comic book store, where I managed to convince myself NOT to buy the Ralph Wiggum comic book (Squeeeeeeeee!), and explored a lot of novelty t-shirt shops. In one shoe shop, the guy working there was incredibly friendly (and once again, pleased that we had chosen his city to explore); he seconded our choice of Pat’s having the best steaks, and told us to find a little place called Rita’s further down the street, where we should try the local ‘water ice’ frozen treat. He didn’t have to tell us twice! Off we toddled, and found Rita’s, where we tried a cotton candy flavoured water ice. It’s basically just a watered-down version of gelato, but apparently a Philadelphia staple, and I have to say it was pretty good! It was a bit too sweet for me, though, so I left it to Charlie to polish it off!

We stopped and had a nice moment in a t-shirt shop called ‘Cheesesteaks’, which sold pro-Philadelphia t-shirts and hats. We were just pottering through the store and the opening notes of Sam Cooke’s ‘Wonderful World’ came on the radio; I was totally thrilled when milliseconds later the volume was pumped to maximum, and I turned to the counter to see the guy simply beaming. He and I and another guy working there all broke into song, singing along with gusto to this most awesome of classics. Sigh. God, I love Sam Cooke, and I’m glad to see that there are other people out there my age who do too!

Banana Split: the aftermath.
The Franklin Fountain, Philadelphia, April 2012

After fully exploring South Street, we started our meandering walk back towards our guesthouse, where we had a breather for about 15 minutes, plotting our next move before heading onwards. As we left, we could smell the scent of fresh cookies being baked… wheeeeee! We made a beeline for a little place we had spotted yesterday – The Franklin Fountain, an old-school ice cream joint, complete with wooden bar and ancient till. All the employees (all men at this point, I noticed) wore neat shirts, little ties, white paper hats, and two of them even had little old-fashioned moustaches!  Charlie ordered a Cherry Bomb (cherry soda with a scoop of chocolate ice cream in it), and I ordered a Classic 1904 Banana Split. The damn thing arrived and it was the size of a HOUSE! I couldn’t believe it! The description had said that it had fresh banana and chocolate, strawberry and vanilla ice cream with whipped cream, strawberries, chocolate fudge and toasted almonds topped with a maraschino cherry. I had imagined a dinky little bowl. It did NOT mention that there were three scoops of each flavour, about a pint of chocolate fudge and three towers of whipped cream, each about as big as my fist! I nearly died and Charlie laughed his ass off. The people at the table next door to us pretty much screamed when they saw it coming out. I gave it a champion effort but I was totally defeated. Four people could easily have shared it! Sigh. Weak, Tara. Just weak. But at least I enjoyed it!

Old-school chocolate heaven,
Shane Confectionery, Philadelphia, April 2012

My ice cream overdose did not stop us from visiting the Oldey-Worldy chocolate shop next door, owned by the same people. Giant jars of gobstoppers and other old-time sweets filled the beautiful, ornate glass shelves, but Charlie and I were only interested in one thing: chocolate-covered bacon. It was so gruesome that we had to get some, but I’ll be honest and tell you that we haven’t been brave enough to actually eat it yet!

Feeling slightly sickly, we went to the nearest subway station and, with only minor cafuffle over ticketing, got the subway to 15th Street/City Hall. Upon exiting the subway we passed a municipal building (the front of which was scattered with giant replicas of playing pieces from famous games like Monopoly and Ludo),and I overheard a bizarre but entertaining conversation. There was a bible nut on the corner shouting at people as they exited the building; he addressed one man in particular and the conversation went as follows:

Nut: “Hey man, are you going to heaven or are you going to hell?”

Other man: “Well… where are you going, man?”

Nut: “God says you only go to one or the other! I’m going to heaven, brother! What’s your choice?”

Other man: “Man, I’m going wherever you ain’t!”

I nearly laughed out loud when I heard this. I was then quite shocked when it turned out that the Other Man was in fact some sort of local politician; he had a bodyguard and a small entourage, and people were stopping to shake his hand and introduce themselves. Well well well; I wonder who he actually was?

From this little interlude we crossed the road to the John F Kennedy Plaza to visit the infamous ‘LOVE‘ statue, and then started walking towards the Rittenhouse Square District, which basically seems to be the main shopping strip and home of the yuppies. After my banana split overload I avoided an ice cream place cleverly called ‘Scoop De Ville’, and we took a little wander in Rittenhouse Square itself, which was leafy and green; a live jazz soundtrack was provided by a young trumpet player practising his art in the park. We strolled along the main shopping area (Walnut Street), peering into expensive bistros, and I somehow ended up with a new shirt and a book. Can’t imagine how that happened.

Finally we decided that we needed some real food, so we stopped at Pietro’s Pizza for dinner. We had fried mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto and served on a bed of spinach (Wow! Green food!), risotto balls filled with mozzarella and beef (served with a delicious napolitana sauce), and we shared a ‘Roma’ pizza – four cheeses with chicken, bacon and artichoke. GLUTTONY! Once again waddling from overeating (I guess we knew it was going to be like that… the two of us are such food fans!), we headed back to the subway station. Most of the entrances that we knew of were closed, but we finally managed to find an open one and caught the subway back to 2nd Street, where we wearily made our way home. All of the electric candles in the windows at the guesthouse were lit, a nice welcoming touch. Conveniently, we arrived just in time for cookies and hot chocolate…! Bleurgh! Food overload!!! We spent a little while planning for tomorrow’s adventures, and now it’s time for bed again. Wish me luck with the rodent situation – I spotted one of the little critters in the living room downstairs and I’m having nightmare visions again! Keep calm, Tara, keep calm. It’s tiny, and you’re a giant to it. It’s all going to be okay. 😉

Thanks for stopping by,

Tara.

Addendum, 12 Aug 2012: You will not believe this. I decided to try to find out the identity of the official-looking guy who was bantering with the bible nut. Turns out that it was the Mayor of Philadelphia himself… Michael Nutter! Well, I’d certainly give him my vote! Awesome.

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Shape-Shifters and Po’ Boys, Washington DC and Philadelphia, April 2012

26 Apr

Wednesday 25th April – Somebody’s messing with my head. I went into my dorm room at the Washington hostel yesterday afternoon to find a new roommate – a thin woman with short-cropped grey hair – sleeping in bed. Later, I bumped into one of my other room-mates who said they had seen our new room-mate too; a man, who had been asleep in bed. Both of us had been under the impression that we were in a female-only dorm so the appearance of a man was odd, and didn’t explain the ‘old woman’ I saw. Later that night, I went into the room again to find our new roomie STILL in bed, only this time it looked like a heavy-set man with pink cheeks. When I woke up in the morning, the creature was still in bed, only now it briefly pulled off its sleeping mask and looked like a pallid, emaciated, frail old man! Slightly freaked out, I left it to go back to sleep while I went to the bathroom. When I came back later, it was still in bed, only it was a normal-looking man with a hat on…! I say ‘it’ because quite frankly I don’t think it was human! Shape-shifter?!? Who sleeps that long and takes on so many guises in one day? This could be a case for Mulder and Scully! 🙂

Supernatural oddities aside (!), the day started pretty normally. I battled the teenage girls for the sinks in the washrooms before heading down to breakfast with Charlie at 9, where I issued a mandatory ‘second-language’ greeting to the man in charge of the breakfast bar. He remembered me from the day before and insisted on telling Charlie that we were old friends from way back. I suppose there was some truth in the friendship thing; yesterday he bullied some poor German boy into doing my breakfast dishes for me! The poor little tyke was horrified and agreed to do it, but I insisted on at least helping out. The man had guffawed loudly at the whole situation; I liked his sense of humour.

Anyway, we packed our bags and said our goodbyes to HI Washington DC before grabbing a taxi to the Greyhound station. It was a fair distance and cost only $10 including luggage surcharge – I keep being amazed at how cheap things can be here compared to Australia! We checked in at the counter with a woman whose accent was totally unintelligible – and this opinion coming from me, an English teacher whose job it often is to decipher indecipherable accents! While waiting for our bus, we eavesdropped on an interesting conversation coming from a group of strangers behind us; they were talking about Obama and Romney, of course, and possible election outcomes. What they were saying made total sense – the financial mess was Bush’s fault, Romney is not the Republican candidate of choice and thus has less of a chance of election, and America needs to give Obama another term if they seriously want to make it out of the financial quagmire. It was nice to hear sense coming out of the man on the street; too often in Australia all we see of the US are the rednecks on their soapboxes, full of hate and bigotry, preaching insanity. It was really quite reassuring to hear something different.

I got a little snacky (we had had to check in very early to collect our tickets), so I tootled over to a vending machine, which turned out to be filled with the most abominable garbage that could not even be loosely termed as ‘food’. In the end, I decided just to give in to the garbage, and bought a vile packet of flourescent orange cheese crackers filled with peanut butter. Yes, you read that correctly. Peanut butter. I tried one and nearly gagged, and had to make myself throw it away or I knew I’d keep eating it anyway!  Who eats that crap?!? (Apart from me, of course!) I then tried to buy water to rinse the taste out of my mouth, but an investigation of all five drink machines revealed that there was only one vending machine that sold water, and it was broken. D’oh! Not wanting to top off my evil snack with a soft drink which couldn’t quench my thirst anyway, I had just enough time to run to the bathroom and drink from the taps before we had to board the bus.

I’m not sure if Greyhound can be making much of a profit out of Washington. Every bus that we saw departing from the station was basically empty; either nobody’s going anywhere, or they’re all flying or driving themselves. Our bus had the two of us and maybe three others on it; other buses were leaving with 1 or 2 passengers, or in fact none. Perhaps they receive a government subsidy? I’m not sure, but I reckon all of those buses were running at a loss this morning.

Our journey was pleasantly uneventful; we both listened to our music and dozed on and off for the three-hour trip. We passed through thick green woodlands outside Washington, and then the bus made its only stop in Baltimore, which I found quite fascinating simply due to the fact that I had been an addict of The Wire, and passing by the docks made me think of Season Two…! Dork! After leaving Baltimore, we entered a stretch of freeway that passed through what looked like farmland; little wooden farmhouses with picturesque barns were dotted on both sides of the road, some hidden by trees. After this fairly delightful view, we were witness to an expanse of suburbs that reminded me quite strongly of Eastleigh, back in England – the stretch of brick houses along the railway line, if anybody reading this is familiar with that area…! Terraced brick houses with little white lean-tos, not in very good condition but quite liveable! There was an elderly lady sitting on her porch in a purple tracksuit, enjoying a vivid pink drink which matched a scrunchie in her hair; I wonder what her story was. I’m so often tempted just to go and talk to people and get inside their world for a bit, but sadly it’s not always possible – or indeed appropriate!

We could see the Philadelphia skyline from some distance; it’s a much bigger city than I had imagined, and quite spread-out. We started singing the theme from ‘Fresh Prince of Bel Air’ (“In West Philadelphia, born and raised, in the playground is where I spent most of my days, chilling out max and relaxing all cool and shooting some b-ball outside of the school…!”) as a sort of welcome to the city, but frowned at the thought of singing Springsteen’s downbeat ‘Streets of Philadelphia’… but then what should we see, first thing, as we came off the freeway? A giant poster of Springsteen himself, who is apparently the subject of an exhibition at the National Constitution Centre…!

Living large at our B&B… who let the scruffy backpackers in?!?
Philadelphia, April 2012

We exited the bus and hopped a cab to our bed & breakfast, which turned out to be MUCH more swanky than we had thought. It’s right in the heart of the historic waterfront district, in a heritage-listed (built in 1796) home. The sitting room and dining room are downstairs, and the guest rooms are on the numerous upper levels. It’s all Chippendale furniture and antique furnishings; classical music greeted us as we came through the front door and our room is small but impeccably decorated, with exposed wooden beams. The bed is so high that I need a stepping-stool to get on it…! No, really. The trials and tribulations of being a shortass, once again. 🙂 Upon check-in, we were informed that wine and cheese would be served from 5:30 to 6:30, and freshly-baked cookies would be served at 8pm, and breakfast was from 8am. Blimey. Wine and cheese and cookies! Quite the change from the YHA’s “You eat off it, you clean it” policy!!! We took our bags up to the room and then set up camp in the sitting room downstairs, playing at being aristocrats on the chaise longue while planning our ‘things to do in Philadelphia’ list. Having figured out a basic plan for the next few days, we set off for a little walk around the neighbourhood without much of an idea of where we were headed. We passed by a Cuban restaurant (I resisted the urge to go in) and a bunch of ridiculously cool-looking bars and restaurants before hitting Market Street. We popped into a little shop called Smak Parlour, which sold cutesy little knick-knacks with cutting slogans on them like, “Inner beauty is for amateurs” and “Yes, I am that kind of girl!” but resisted the urge to buy more junk that we didn’t need!

Continuing along the street, we came across a little park filled with dorks (read: future internet millionaires) playing frisbee, which was part of the larger Independence National Historical Park, an L-shaped green lined with a number of Phialdephia’s most important historical monuments. We snuck around the windows of the Liberty Bell Centre (closed at this time of day) but couldn’t get a glimpse of the legendary bell itself, and then stared admiringly at Independence Hall, which was also closed – it’ll have to wait for another day!

We then walked north along 6th Street, past the National Constitution Centre, and right onto Race Street, admiring all the beautiful little brick-lined laneways and historic buildings we were passing. Philadelphia really has a very different vibe to Washington DC; it buzzes with life and feels much more alternative; there’s something going on down every little alley and all of it seems interesting! It’s also painfully cool… but I think I can forgive it for that! We spotted a wicked-looking bar with a delicious-looking menu, and made a mental note of it for dinner. Continuing down Race Street, we passed a number of specialist industry shops; places to buy glassware for bars and kitchenware for restaurants, along with period restoration companies (complete with cats sunning themselves in the window), trendy boutiques, antique stores and galleries… quite the mix. One shopfront (an architect, I think) had a ‘Little Free Library’ outside – it was a hollowed-out dollhouse with a glass flip-out front. It was filled with about a dozen books, and the instructions read: “This Little Free Library is from friends who wanted to Pay It Forward. They hope you will do the same! Take a book, return a book.” What a great idea!

Elfreth’s Alley,
Philadelphia, April 2012

We wandered over to Elfreth’s Alley, which is apparently America’s oldest residential street. The street is very narrow (just about wide enough to fit a horse or two!), cobblestoned, and filled with houses that date back to the mid-1700s. All of them have wooden panel doors on the ground outside for entry to the basement, and the wooden shutters were just beautiful. We were lucky enough to get there at a time when other tourists were mostly elsewhere; the hordes had left us with the street mostly to ourselves, so we took a leisurely potter from one end to the other. It was quite stunning, but I have to say that I’d probably hate to live there; it’d be like living in a goldfish bowl with all those people passing through! I was, however, charmed by a little side alley called Bladen’s Court, which looked like a miniature grove and led off to ends unknown. Lovely! Just like The Secret Garden! 🙂

From Elfreth’s Alley, starving after missing lunch, we pretty much ran back to the Race Street Cafe, which we had spotted earlier. Charlie ordered a ‘Dogfish Head Noble Rot’ beer (!) and a Spanish chorizo and beef burger with cheese fries, and I had a Race Street Po’ Boy, which was freaking awesome. A long, sub-like roll sprinkled with polenta on the outside and parmesan on the inside and toasted, then filled with a little crab salad (not made with mayo, hallelujah), some lettuce and avocado, and topped with corn-meal coated fried prawns and a yummy savoury (BBQ of some kind?) sauce, served with the crunchiest fries in existence, tomato sauce, and home-made mustard. Oh. My god. I demolished the whole thing in what seemed like one breath. After ending the feeding frenzy, we glanced about to realise that we were almost entirely surrounded by medical staff from, we assume, a nearby hospital. I was mildly peeved by a woman at the next table who was so vapid she almost wasn’t there. The man she was with decided to order something to snack on, and suggested nachos with pulled pork. He asked her what she thought. “I don’t mind.” Well, are you hungry? “Um, I’m okay with whatever.” No really, what do you feel like? “Oh, I’ll just have whatever you’re having.” Do you like nachos with pork? “I really don’t mind.” You could see that he was almost as peeved as I was; if this was a date, she probably wasn’t going to see him again. Get a personality, woman!

Delicious Po’ Boy at the Race Street Cafe,
Philadelphia, April 2012

From Race Street we walked south along 2nd Street, stopping to investigate anything that took our fancy, most specifically a comic book shop called Brave New World. TOYS!!! I came thisclose to buying a ‘Supernatural’ comic book but tamed myself at the last minute. I then had a near heart attack when I saw this t-shirt representing the movie ‘Stand By Me’ (the Pez! The comb! The leech!) but sadly they only had it in small! Aaaagh! When we reached Market Street, we hung a left towards the waterfront where we passed an Italian restaurant and some rather intimidating guys in suits outside… sleep with the fishes!!! After doing a little tour of the neighbourhood (more awesome-looking bars and restaurants; it would take a lifetime to try them all!), we found ourselves back at the hotel just in time for hot chocolate and fresh-baked cookies! Our fellow guest-housers included a Parisian woman, a German guy and a couple from Texas… quite the mix!

And now here we are, pleasantly exhausted and ready for bed after another successful day of eating and doing stuff. 🙂

Thanks for stopping by,

Tara.

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Eating Italian Food in Chinatown, Washington DC, April 2012

25 Apr

Tuesday 24th April – Hallelujah, we woke up to blue skies!!! I had really not been looking forward to another day of walking around in gale-force winds and icy drizzle, so getting up and seeing the chunks of blue between the buildings was like a godsend. I sprung out of bed (not a common occurrence for me, being more likely to crawl out of the sheets with all the enthusiasm of a sloth) and beat the teenage girls to the showers again. As my friend Cameron (and his idol Charlie Sheen) would say: “WINNING!”

Charlie (not Sheen, thank god) and I met for breakfast at 8:30, where I discovered that there were no chocolate muffins left – boo! However, I managed to get hold of a banana muffin and this was enough to keep me happy. 🙂 A man looking after the breakfast station demanded a greeting in a language other than English, and I was happy to oblige with a grandiose, “Salaam! Hola! Bonjour!” This seemed to make him happy and I was allowed to proceed with my cereal.

Signs that most high-school field-trippers were sadly ignoring,
Washington DC, April 2012

Not long afterwards, Charlie and I found ourselves on a metro headed for Arlington National Cemetery, the final resting place of many American servicemen and women. I am not particularly entranced by military institutions or by graveyards, but Arlington has always held a certain fascination for me. So many Hollywood movies have successfully evoked a distinct feeling of loss and sadness by using footage of Arlington. When I read ‘The Root Cellar’ (by Janet Lunn) at a young and impressionable age, I remember my heart breaking at the image of Will, one of the young protagonists who survives the horrors of the American Civil War, being found in Washington; in my head, he was found at Arlington, standing guard over his friend’s grave. So how could I not visit and pay my respects to all the many generations of soldiers who had been lost?

We wandered up the memorial drive, a long, wide, straight road which leads in a straight line back to the heart of the city, and entered the cemetery near the visitor’s centre. We were informed that funerals would be taking place during the day, and as such some of the paths would be closed. Would you believe that there were actually some people scowling at this news? It’s a bloody cemetery people – show some respect!

A day so sunny it was almost surreal, at the Arlington National Cemetary,
Washington DC, April 2012

Our first stop was the Women’s Memorial, austere in granite, and then we cut across one of the vast green lawns, stopping to read headstones as we went. The contrast of rows and rows of small white stones against the bright green grass in front of vivid blue skies was remarkable; so many lives lost too early, now forever bright in neat little columns. I was constantly struck by the sheer sadness of it; each stone represented someone who probably died in horrific circumstances, separated from their home and family at such a high cost. There were soldiers from Korea, Vietnam, World War One and World War Two; September 11th victims from the Pentagon; Civil War soldiers; astronauts from the Columbia and Challenger disasters, and the occasional President.

Our next stop was to pay our respects to President John F Kennedy; he lay in a simple memorial at the bottom of a hill next to his wife, Jackie Onassis, with an eternal flame burning nearby. The area was surrounded with awe and respectful silence; some people looked genuinely upset. I suppose he was much loved by the American people, and the shock with which his assassination was received is still palpable. The thing that touched me the most, though, was the fact that two of their children were buried with them. One small stone next to Jackie was simply labelled ‘Daughter’ (perhaps a miscarriage or stillbirth?) with only the year listed, and next to John was another small stone that showed that they had a son who survived for 2 days. So, so sad and so, so small. John Kennedy Jr was not at the same site; I wonder where he is buried.

Hundreds of the fallen rest at the Arlington National Cemetary,
Washington DC, April 2012

From there, we climbed the largest hill on the site to Arlington House, the original homestead on the property (which used to be a plantation until it was ‘acquired’ by the Union army during the Civil War, and subsequently became the cemetery we see today). Apparently Robert E. Lee lived there once, when he married the daughter of the original owner; blimey. It was a grand home, fronted with giant columns of orange sandstone, and an unbelieveable view over the whole of what is now Washington city. I could easily imagine myself sitting on a rocking chair of an evening, enjoying the view. From this vantage point, one can even see the Pentagon, which is right next door to Arlington. The interior of the house was mostly under renovation, but I was surprised to see that it was actually quite small despite its grand exterior. The original fireplaces were still intact, and there was some sort of amateur theatre performance happening inside for the benefit of school trips, but Charlie and I continued out the back to the kitchen garden, which was sadly also closed for renovation, meaning that we couldn’t visit the Unknown Civil War Dead Memorial/Tomb. Instead, we continued on to the Old Amphitheatre, a small but sweet structure covered in green vines. I don’t know the origins of the place but I imagined it as a place built at the same time as the house, used for entertaining. I could imagine rows of Southern belles in flouncy dresses being courted by men with decadent moustaches to the sound of a band on the stage; I wonder what they might think of how the house is being used now?

Leaving the amphitheatre, we walked along ‘Crook Walk’, up and down more green hills filled with little white stones, trying not to grimace at the annoying teenagers in stupid carnival hats shouting and yelling at each other and chasing each other along the steps. Where was their chaperone? Did nobody mention that perhaps that was unsuitable attire (and behaviour) for a cemetery?!? Sigh.

We finally came across the Memorial Amphitheatre, yet another grand ellipse with stone benches inside, and stopped for a short break before visiting the astronauts I mentioned before. At this point, we heard the beating of drums and realised that the funeral we’d been told about was under way. The rhythm was quite fast; soon, a large number of soldiers in full regalia came into view. The first group bore musical instruments; the second bore rifles over their shoulders. They were followed by a team of beautiful, strong-looking white horses, and then behind them came the casket on a polished black cart with golden wheels, draped in an American flag. Following the casket were a few civilians, by the looks of things, and then a number of cars. A bunch of tourists started racing to where the cortege was passing, whipping out their cameras excitedly. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

A soldier takes part in the changing of the guard for the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers, Arlington National Cemetary,
Washington DC, April 2012

We went around the back of the Memorial Amphitheatre to the Tomb of the Unknowns, where we just happened to catch the Changing of the Guard. Such pomp, ceremony and attention to detail. Even the way they walked (slowly rolling the foot from heel to toe with a straight leg) was carefully calculated, a clearly rehearsed set of instructions and confirmations issued and received. The tomb was established in 1921, its first ‘resident’ being a victim of World War One, and as such the man who patrols (a different one every half an hour) takes 21 steps alongside the tomb, waits for 21 seconds, and then walks 21 paces back. Amazing.

Prisms in the window make for a colourful appearance at the Museum of the American Indian,
Washington DC, April 2012

By this point, we were royally exhausted. Hours of pottering in the (delightful) sunshine, walking up and down hills, had left us more than a little hungry, so we exited the cemetery and got the metro to Federal Centre SouthWest. We marched in a straight, unwavering line (even ignoring Capitol Hill to our right) to the Museum of the American Indian. Were we going there to learn about the culture? To soak up the atmosphere? No, I’m ashamed to admit, we were not. We were going there in search of food. Of course! We had heard that the Mitsitam Cafe, inside the Museum, served a range of foods based on the cuisine of different native American regions, and were keen to give it a go. We were so hungry that we ignored all the lovely, rocky, wiggly architecture and mock wetlands; we paused for a millisecond to appreciate a totem pole and a VW Beetle covered in beadwork and then for another millisecond to appreciate the coloured light refracted through prisms in the windows, and that was that – straight to the food. The cafe was on a ‘grab-a-tray’ basis; there were a number of counters representing the different regions: the Northwest Coast, MesoAmerica, the Great Plains, South America and Northern Woodlands. We gorged madly: blue corn bread, a buffalo cheeseburger, red skin potato and corn puree, and the piece de resistance – blue, red and yellow corn chips topped with pulled chicken, cheese and salsa. Nom nom nom nom nom. All of it was simple but delicious. Charlie tried a Stewart’s Orange’n’Cream drink, which tasted disturbingly like an orange split ice cream, and I stuck to my Smithsonian (!) water. We rounded it off with a pair of amazingly creamy chocolate tarts; I’m not sure how ‘authentic’ they were, but damn they tasted good! I considered a rosemary and pine nut tart but knew I would have been jealous watching Charlie eat the chocolate, so what else could I do? 🙂

Our yummy lunch at the Museum of the American Indian,
Washington DC, April 2012

Replenished and refilled, we wandered out of the museum and walked over to the Capitol building, where we took a series of photographs that are making me laugh out loud just thinking about them. Perhaps making fun of the American Capitol building while right outside it is not the best idea; I could imagine a pair of snipers with their sights trained right on us, asking for permission to blow us away for disrespecting their dome!

Tired after all the eating and walking, we got the metro back to the hostel to rest for a little bit before heading out again to meet Charlie’s brother Gavin in Chinatown, which is not far from the hostel. Gavin has a 7-month old baby at home so he’s understandably a bit short on time; we met at the Starbuck’s opposite the elaborate Chinatown archway and stopped for a chat. I tried the most amazing drink – a Caramel Apple Spice. The guy behind the counter thought I was hilarious just because I had to ask what it was – turns out it was an apple drink heated up and swirled with cinnamon and caramel. Bleeding ‘eck, it was good! Normally I’m just a water girl but I can see myself making an exception for this drink again in the future. We took a couple of stools in the front window, next to a man with a dazzling smile – as we sat down he turned it on me and couldn’t help but smile back. Funny how there are some people that you just notice.

Anyway, we enjoyed our drinks and whiled away a bit of time, pausing to watch a very fit-looking man in shorts and a fitness vest prancing about like a loon in the middle of the intersection. Turns out he does it every day; the lights are set so that pedestrian traffic can cross diagonally as well as right across, so there are no vehicles in the intersection for a short time, and he just loves to be in the middle of it for as long as he can!

Gavin eventually left us and we pottered down the main strip past the Chinatown gate, stopping at an Urban Outfitters to browse through their bizarre selection of knick-knacks and funny books. Both of us ended up buying a copy of ‘Creative Cursing: A Mix’n’Match Profanity Generator’, snickering in a throughly immature way  at our two-part random creations, which included ‘snot glob’, ‘pecker wanker’, ‘jerk farm’, ‘mother donkey’ and other delights. No accounting for taste, eh? Ha ha ha ha ha!

Me and Charlie pull a Blue Steel at the Capitol Building,
Washington DC, April 2012

We decided on some Chinese food for dinner, seeing as we were in Chinatown, but after browsing a few less-than-inspirational menus we stumbled across Vapiano, a chain that’s one of my favourite places to eat with my friends in Australia, and one that Charlie has never tried. And so that’s how we ended up eating Italian food in Chinatown. You order your food at the counter and it’s made fresh in front of you while you wait; I had my usual carbonara with prawns, and Charlie tried the Truffle Ham pasta, which was a disgustingly good mix of fried ham, blue cheese, garlic, mustard, spinach and white truffle oil. Holy awesome pasta, Batman! We sat and chatted for a while as the place filled up around us, and then toddled back to the hostel. Walking down the street, we passed a man who was dialing someone on his mobile; she must have picked up because all we heard was a very enthusiastic, “What’s up, baby doll?” from him. Charlie and I exchanged a look; I’ve never been called Baby Doll in my life and I’m not sure I would react positively if someone tried it!

We arrived back at the hostel to see yet another school group checking in; now there was a group of mixed-age Mexicans, a group of teenage girls from Alaska and the new arrivals, a mixed group of 12 and 13-year-olds from South Carolina. God help us all! We had a chat to one of the chaperones from the South Carolina group, who seemed  like a nice guy; much better, at least, than the leader of the Mexican group who is a gross old shrieking battleaxe! Last night she was barking at the entire group like a disgruntled drill sergeant, and more than a few of us older folk in the common room were, quite honestly, terrified. “SHUT UP AND LISTEN AND DO NOT ANSWER UNTIL I ASK FOR IT!” she screeched in rapid-fire English… all of us made frightened eye contact and thanked the lord that we were not under her tutelage!

And so here we are again, in the common room, considering an earlyish night. Tomorrow we leave Washington after a thoroughly successful visit, on to pastures new.

Thanks for stopping by,

Tara.

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Let The Food Onslaught Begin! Washington DC, April 2012

24 Apr

Monday 23rd April 2012 – so, Charlie and I have been planning this little jaunt of ours for quite a while. His brother lives in Washington, so it made sense that he would fly in from England to catch up with his brother and then he and I would hit the road and trip the light fantastic for a wee while, eating our way from Washington DC to Philadelphia (and Lancaster County) to New York, where he will, sadly, leave me and fly home again while my adventure continues. The last time we caught up was in September 2010, so it was high time that we meet up again! We’re both foodies so I’m guessing that this part of the trip is going to be highly calorific…!

I woke up in the morning at 7, eager to get to the showers before all the teenage girls who are on my floor hogged them at 8. I had heard one of them screeching on her phone the night before, probably to her mum or her dad: “I miss you! I HATE this place! IT’S LIKE JAAAAAAAIL!!!” Two of them had already “fallen sick” because they had actually had to WALK the day before (god forbid!) and I had overheard them making plans for the next day in the washroom, so I was VERY keen not to have to compete with them in the morning for showers and sinks. I sped in and had myself a nice hot shower; afterwards I was standing in my towel, brushing my teeth, and glimpsed the tan lines on my shoulders in the mirror, and I have to admit that I was once again back in Cuba enjoying the sunshine, at least in my mind!

I finished getting ready and headed to the second floor of the hostel where a free breakfast is served; I grabbed a bowl of Cheerios and spotted a nice lady working there who was unpacking a couple of boxes of Otis Spunkmeyer muffins. The second box was blueberry, and I mentioned that they looked good, and we struck up a little conversation about the best kind of muffins. We both came to the consensus that bran muffins are utterly pointless; I said that they were too healthy for me, and she said that only old people felt like they needed bran, just to keep them… regular! We snickered and snorted for a while, and she mentioned that sometimes they have chocolate chip muffins at the hostel, which disappear at an astonishing rate – and that she hoped I would get to try them. Nice lady!

I took my seat at one of the benches and started a ‘to do’ list while I was eating my Cheerios and yummy blueberry muffin. A couple of minutes later, a girl came to sit diagonally opposite me and my internal freak radar started beeping. I glimpsed up to her acknowledge her and smile, then went back to my list. She had white, white, hair and pale skin with glasses thicker than the bottom of a glass Coke bottle which magnified her eyes a thousand-fold, and was staring at me intensely. I guess she must have felt that I was breaking the ‘youth hostel code’ by not engaging her in conversation or something, because about 2 minutes later she shoved her chair back fiercely and snatched up her tray before flouncing to the end of the aisle, pausing only to shoot me a look that would kill lesser beings. I felt bad for a millisecond before I realised that a) she could have tried to start a conversation herself and b) she was obviously a loon anyway, so I probably dodged a bullet there! My thoughts on the situation were thankfully interrupted by the lovely lady from earlier, who was unbelieveably waving a tray of double chocolate muffins in my direction and shouting, “Heeeeeey! Look what I got you! I managed to get some for you to try! You better come get ’em quick!” I was up like a shot! 🙂

I finished my muffin-fest and then went upstairs to brush my teeth before getting a text from Charlie to say that he had arrived at the hostel! I went downstairs and there he was!!! REUNION!!! It’s always like no time has passed at all; I guess that’s what comes from 16 years of friendship. 🙂 He couldn’t check in yet because it was too early, so we said goodbye to his brother Gavin (who had come to drop him off – the first time I had ever met him!), dumped his bags in my room and grabbed our jackets before heading out in search of snacks to kick off our eating marathon.

We wandered down 11th Street and passed a few bland-looking sandwich places, but both of us simultaneously stopped dead outside Crumbs Bake Shop. We had spotted the complex-looking sweet muffins, and we were lost. More sugar with your breakfast, madam? Like kids in a candy store, we pressed ourselves up against the glass display case, salivating over all our options. There were at least 30 or 40 different types of muffins – red velvet, cookie dough, devil’s food, carrot, peanut butter cup, cherry blossom, vanilla coconut, dulce de leche… the list goes on. All were extravagantly iced and delicious-looking, so after discussing our options with the lady behind the counter, we ordered a caramel apple muffin and a mudslide muffin to share, and a couple of mint hot chocolates to round off the dairy fix. We sat at a bench in the window watching the Washingtonians in expensive suits go about their business, caught up on recent news and loosely plotted our day. The hot chocolate was really something special, but after my muffin breakfast at the hostel I only made it part of the way through the caramel apple one, and only managed a bite or two of the mudslide. Shame one me! Weakling! They were so good!

From there, we began our long, long, LONG walk around Washington. We hiked, we plodded, we teetered and we toddled. We fought against the icy wind all day, clutching our ears to keep them warm, and withstood the sprinkling rain that seemed to follow us everywhere, but we managed a hell of a lot in a shortish period of time. Thank god, at least, that it didn’t rain as heavily as it had the day before, or we might have had to give in and spend the day in the museums or risk drowning/freezing on the streets!

Look Mum, I’m at The White House!
Washington DC, April 2012

We didn’t stick to any particular route, but instead headed off in the general direction of a building we wanted to see and took any good-looking detours we spotted on the way. Our first port of call was the White House… of course. On the way, we made a detour to the Ronald Reagan Building, a dome-topped monolith, and passed through Freedom Plaza, where I remember seeing young Americans celebrating on the news on the day that Osama Bin Laden was killed. From there, we skirted up the east side of the White House, past the grey and elaborate Department of Treasury, and found ourselves basically in the back garden of the White House, separated only by a small black fence and a patch of grass. A security guard/police officer strolled nearby, but didn’t seem too concerned by our loitering around. I guess two tourists suffering from a muffin hangover don’t score highly on the ‘national security’ checklist!

We hung a left on the corner, walking south down the west side of the White House, and approached the front of it through a small slip road. I was honestly surprised at how little security there appeared to be in the area; I suppose that a lot of it must be done by surveillance, and I guess there would be a lot of security inside the gates. We stared through the poles on the fence at the Kitchen Garden, and I marvelled that I was actually there, in Washington DC, outside the White House. You see it so often on television that it didn’t actually seem very real; I had to focus very carefully to remind myself of where I was! It’s not quite as imposing as it seems on TV, but then considering the power it wields, it would be wise not to underestimate it. We snapped our touristy pictures and went on our merry way, congratulating ourselves on our awesomeness for being there.

The Washington Monument,
Washington DC, April 2012

We walked along the edge of the Ellipse, a large expanse of grass in front of the White House, and approached the Washington Monument. Phew. It’s a biggun, that’s for sure. All white stone and 555 feet high, it is the tallest stone obelisk in the world, apparently. It was surrounded by posey joggers all slowing down just enough to get into tourist photos…! We skirted around it about 270 degrees, and then went off on a tangent towards the World War Two Memorial, which was yet another ellipse, this time in tasteful grey tones and a central fountain. A diorama on the southern side showed different stages of the life of a soldier in World War Two, starting with conscription and departure, moving into different types of battle on land, on the sea and in the air, and ending with death or a passionate homecoming after the war ends (where apparently they all danced the lindy hop, I was happy to see!). Quite the display.

By this time, I was (and I’m okay with admitting this) just about peeing my pants with excitement about seeing the reflecting pool outside the Lincoln Memorial. All my life I’ve been watching footage of historic speeches in this area (most specifically Martin Luther King’s ‘I Had A Dream’ Speech), and have been captivated by footage of the entire area being filled with people and their banners, some up in the trees just so they could have a glimpse of what was going on. I wanted to walk where they had walked and try to imagine some of the excitement and hope they had felt for their changing world. So it was with some disappointment that we came over the crest of the World War Two Memorial only to see that the reflecting pool had been emptied and was in fact now a construction site; the poolside walkways had been ripped up and foot traffic was being detoured outside the edge of the area. Boo! Still, I refused to let that ruin it for me; as we walked down the detoured area I tried to imagine folks up in the trees and what the atmosphere might have been like. And besides, there was still the Lincoln Memorial – also an outstanding piece of mental imagery that I was looking forward to bringing to life!

We stopped at the Korean War Memorial… at first sight, I thought that there was a group of foolish tourists in white rain ponchos all hanging about in the general area, and I was about to laugh at them until I realised that in fact they were statues of soldiers in raincoats!!!

Me and Abraham Lincoln!
Washington DC, April 2012

As we approached the Lincoln Memorial, the sheer number of tourists increased a thousand-fold; most were being disgorged by buses at a nearby car park. Still, that didn’t stop us from pouncing up the grand staircase and peering into the face of Lincoln himself, serious but friendly-looking, the father of a nation, I suppose. There was a certain air of reverence allotted to him here, and I guess I can understand why. We managed to get some pictures of the both of us with the statue, courtesy of a kind Swede who took pity on us, and outside I tried to mimic Lincoln’s stance for a laugh but with him inside and me outside, he was difficult to see. Never mind!

We then visited the Vietnam War Memorial, which was tastefully done in black marble that reflected the trees nearby and included a statue of a trio of soldiers, looking strong and vital; so many like them, lost so young.

From there, we headed out to Independence Avenue to skirt around the edge of the tidal basin, where we stopped by the Martin Luther King Jr Memorial. It looked like a collection of large grey stones but as we came closer we found that they were all covered in brilliant quotes from King himself, all of which still had a ring of truth today. Continuing around the lake, we strolled through the FD Roosevelt Memorial, which seemed excessively large but was very earthy in tone, and then excitedly looked for the Japanese pagoda, only to find that it was only about six foot tall, just a concrete pillar really…! The cherry trees had lost all their blossoms, but the scent was still rich in the air. We breathed deeply before moving on!

We continued over the inlet bridge to the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, another imposing structure with a giant dome on the top, open to the elements with a statue of Jefferson himself inside, staring out over the tidal basin and across to the Washington Monument. Quotes from him lined the walls, but as a non-American I can’t say I was much moved. I was much more entertained when Charlie tried to find the bathroom and we followed a little tunnel into the bowels of the structure, only to find no signs but a lift which could have taken him to Narnia for all we knew! He took a gamble and jumped in, and returned in one piece, no Aslan in tow; it had indeed been the way to the bathrooms.

Happy happy happy! About to tuck into a chili dog and some cheese fries at Ben’s Chili Bowl,
Washington DC, April 2012

Tired now, and a little windswept and damp, we decided to go in search of a late lunch at a place we’d both heard of called Ben’s Chilli Bowl. We walked to the nearest metro station, which was in the Smithsonian complex, and grabbed a subway to U Street, north of the city centre. The area near U Street and 14th Street is a bit of an iconic area for Washington, heavily African American in demographic and historically significant as a centre of African-American culture, predating the Civil War even. It used to be known as the ‘Black Broadway’, filled with theatres and music venues hosting local big-name acts like Duke Ellington. A lot of freed slaves came here, only moving out of the area when segregation in the rest of the city became less common. When Barack Obama was elected as the first African-American president, the whole area filled with people celebrating his victory.

Charlie loves his thickshake, Ben’s Chili Bowl,
Washington DC, April 2012

We came out of the metro station and made a beeline for Ben’s Chilli Bowl, and as we stepped off the freezing street into the warmth of the diner, we both fell in love. Not much has changed here since its opening in 1958; the booths and stools are the same, and the menu looks as retro as they come, pasted on brown plastic high on the wall. Queuing is done in an orderly manner or the staff reserve the right to shout at you (“I don’t see no single file line in here!!!”), and Motown hits were the soundtrack of the day. Singing along to Harold Melvin’s ‘Bad Luck’, the dreadlocked man in charge flitted from customer to customer issuing compliments or taunts as he saw fit. “I got you, boo!”, to one lady who requested cheese on her fries; “We ain’t serving him! This ain’t Beantown!!!” to the man who dared to enter wearing his Red Sox jersey; “Shamon, Michael Jackson, SHAMON!!!” when a good track came on. What a character. We took up residence in a booth near the entrance and ordered exactly the same thing – 2 cheese fries, 2 vanilla thickshakes and 2 chilli half-smokes (a Washington-style hot dog, more smokey and meaty than your average, topped with chilli and onion). The food arrived, and…. hoooweeee. It was freaking AWESOME. Chilli’s not even really my thing but oh my god, I fell in love with the flavour of everything we were eating. Charlie wolfed his down in apparent milliseconds, and I tried to keep up but couldn’t do as well! The milkshakes were thick and flavourful, the fries were crispy under their cheesy sauce, and everything about the half-smokes was sublime. We sat in companionable silence for a bit, digesting our ill-gotten gains. Sigh. Bliss.

A camera crew was faffing about doing something, but we didn’t take much notice; we were too busy gorging on the food. I had to use the bathroom and found the walls lined with chalkboard, with a little bowl attached to the wall filled with coloured chalk. Guests are encouraged to decorate the bathroom! Sweet! I signed my name and after sitting for a little bit to catch our breath, we headed out into the cold again. We made a pitstop at a chemist to pick up a couple of essentials, and then got the metro back to the hostel for an evening of lazing, reading and stomach recovery (and, strangely, arguing with Frederico the Argentinian about the Falkland Islands…!).

And that’s where I find myself now. We’ve decided to skip dinner; our late lunch was more than enough and Charlie had the keen foresight to bring a bag of Galaxy chocolate with him, so we’re all set! 🙂

I suppose that my biggest impression of Washington so far is that of stately building and elaborate edifices. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

Thanks for stopping by,

Tara.

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The Return to Toronto and a Quiet Night in Washington DC, April 2012

24 Apr

21st April 2012 – Flying out of Havana was, quite frankly, heartbreaking – not just because I was knackered after being out all night and only managed to get an hour and a half’s sleep, but because I knew I would miss the place and the people. Toronto was cold and grey, but I suppose I knew at least that more awesome adventures lay ahead of me, so I couldn’t be too grumpy!

The 21st and 22nd of April were both fairly non-descript. I arrived in Toronto on the 21st and took an airport bus into the city, where I walked to my youth hostel and checked in. I spent a couple of hours relaxing in my room, backing up photos from my Cuba trip, and then my godmother Frenda came to meet me for a little bit. We went to Union Station and had a chat and a McDonald’s before she had to get her train out to Burlington, which only runs once an hour and takes an hour to get there. I was still suffering from a total lack of sleep so I pretty much went back to my room and sorted things out and slept, as I had another early flight the next day.

The rude awakening at 5am on the 22nd of April was totally yuck. I stumbled around the dorm room at the hostel trying not to wake anyone, and managed to walk my ass into the city centre in time for the 6:30 bus to the airport. I checked in with no issues, and went through USA immigration with very few complaints, too – quite remarkable! The immigration officer pored through every page of my passport and asked a bunch of questions about why I was going to the US, but in the end I guess he correctly decided that I was no threat to their security or to their job market and sent me through. The plane was delayed by a mere 30 minutes, but we made up the time on the flight and arrived in Washington DC basically on time.

It was absolutely tipping it down in Washington. Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. I managed, however, to get a good look at the Space Shuttle Enterprise (“Make It So!”), which was attached to the back of a NASA 747 jumbo jet out on the airfield; I wonder what they’re doing with it. Once in the terminal, I was raring to go – but then the luggage took over an hour to come off the belt, and when it did it was totally soaked. By the time I’d sorted an airport shuttle that was another half an hour, and the bus took over an hour in the rain and traffic to get to the city centre, so by the time I got to the hostel and the lovely staff had checked me in, the lack of sleep had once again caught up with me – d’oh!

I decided that, after more than three weeks of running about like a headless chicken in the pursuit of sun and fun, it was time to take an afternoon just to chill out and do necessary things – especially considering the pouring rain outside. My 19-year-old self would have been disgusted (“You’re in a new city! It’s your first day here! Get off your butt and do something!”), but in the end I unpacked all my wet clothes and did some laundry before working on blog updates and an email backlog.

Later I decided to venture out in search of food – I had spotted an Indian place round the corner from the hostel and thought I might give it a go. I went out, brolly in hand, ready to fight the battering winds. My umbrella turned inside out countless times and my shoes were wet through within minutes, but I figured it was worth it for Indian food! Sadly, when I got there, it was closed. So I walked a little further to another restaurant… and it was closed. And another, and another, and another. Everything was closed. I know it was Sunday, but really?!? It was 7:30pm, and right near the downtown area! I was obviously missing something. Soaked through from waist to foot, and fairly damp everywhere else thanks to the ineffectiveness of my umbrella, I decided to just stop at the first thing I found open… and sadly, that turned out to be a Quizno’s sub shop a few more blocks down. Sigh! I had a couple of sliders (one meatball, one bacon, beef and cheese) and a packet of barbeque flavoured sweet potato chips (verdict: nothing special) and then steeled myself for the walk back to the hostel, whereafter I changed into dry PJs and sat on my bed faffing with my laptop. Considering how little I had been bothered by a lack of it in Cuba, I certainly am taking to it again like a duck to water!

After making plans with Charlie on how/when to meet the next day (yay!), I eventually made it to bed at around 10:30/11pm, and slept like a baby. I reckon that if I get one more good night’s sleep, I’ll be right as rain.

Thanks for stopping by!

Tara.

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Jerk Chicken and Kickass Shortbread, Toronto, March 2012

23 Apr

Thursday 29th March – by wonderful coincidence, it turned out that an old friend of mine called Dave (who I had met while working in Montreal) had actually moved to Toronto without me knowing it, so after a quick Facebook to and fro, Thursday was the day that we decided to catch up!

As it turned out, Adrian had to go into the city from Burlington anyway, so I hopped a lift to the station with him rather than make the epic walk and risk missing the train again like the day before. I met Dave at Union Station, where he was outside having a quick smoke. As always, he looked terribly dapper with his jaunty moustache and burgundy jacket – a very welcome sight on a cold Toronto morning! Ah, it was good to see his face again; five years is such a long time to go without seeing old friends!

I suggested that we try ‘The Real Jerk‘, the place I had spotted out near DeGrassi Street the day before, so we took a little potter out of the station to King Street where we jumped on an eastbound streetcar and got off at Queen and Broadview. Inside, the restaurant was done up in wood panelling and bursts of black, red, yellow and green, and we took a table on a raised platform. The waitress seemed fairly bemused by the two of us; we spent ages deciding what to eat and then asked for a ‘taster plate’, which they didn’t have, so there was a bit of good-natured eye-rolling going on while we dithered and she teased us. In the end, we shared a shrimp roti and a plate of their jerk chicken and jerk pork with fried plantains on the side. Did I remember to take a picture of the food? No. I meant to, but I was too busy jumping onto it and devouring it to get photographic evidence of how good it was! 😀

After pretty much wiping the plates clean, we walked a wee way up the road to another little place that we had spotted from the tram on the way in – Mary McLeod’s Shortbread. A tiny little inconspicuous shop really, but filled with yummy goodies. As we walked in, the smell of chocolate shortbread was thick in the air; the lady behind the counter asked me if I wanted to try some, and of course the answer was HELL YES! Expecting a few crumbs, I was actually surprised when she just handed me an entire cookie. It was melt-in-the-mouth amazing, just the way real shortbread should be. After I had sniffed all the alternatives and poked at all their stock, Dave was very generous again and picked up a box of their butterscotch fingers shortbread for us to share. We wandered to the tram stop and went back into the city centre and took another little walk around before going back to the main concourse of Union Station, which has a grand arching hallway and access to long-distance trains. We took up a warm seat next to a heating vent and had a little chat and nibbled our shortbread to while away the time before I had to go for my train. A nice young man sitting next to us took our photo, and that was that; Dave and I had to say our sad goodbyes until the next time we were in the same city. Boooooo! 😦

I got the train back to Burlington and then walked back to Frenda’s place, where I spent the evening quietly (doing my laundry etc) until she came home later.

And that, really, was that. The next day (Friday 30th March), I got up and packed my bags for Cuba, and Adrian kindly dropped me off at the airport – no small deal considering how far away they live. I checked in and with very little hoo-ha, I was on my way to Havana for the grand adventure! But that, of course, is another story. (Which can, incidentally, be found here when I eventually finish it!)

Thanks for stopping by,

Tara. 🙂

A Day in the Big Smoke, Toronto, March 2012

23 Apr

Wednesday 28th March – I decided that it was finally time to get out of the house for the day… there’s only so much pottering you can do before you go stir-crazy! Jason (Frenda’s son) and I had also made tentative plans to meet in Toronto on the Wednesday, and I had a few errands to run before hitting Cuba, so it all just fell together nicely. Unfortunately the day turned into a comedy of errors, but not every day can be perfect, I guess! There were a couple of highlights though – specifically a pilgrimage to DeGrassi Street!!! Wooooot!!! JOEY JEREMIAH AND HIS JEAN JACKET!!!!! 😉

I got up at a realistic hour, got dressed and started the journey to the train station. Adrian had mentioned that it was a fifteen-minute walk away, so I left about half an hour before the train was due to depart to adjust for his long stride versus my little steps! Unfortunately, as it turned out, even though I was walking at a pretty good clip half an hour was not enough. I realised this just a little too late; I jogged for about 5 minutes and then full-out sprinted for another five, but it was simply not enough to get to the train. It pulled into the station as I entered the humungous commuter car park, and I had to buy a ticket before getting on; I missed it by less than a minute, and I was fuming because the next train was not for another hour. WHEN will people realise that public transport needs to run well and often?!? I was sweaty and pissed off, so I just sat on the floor heaving for breath, trying to calm down. There was no point in turning back; there was nothing nearby and nothing to do, so there I sat, grumpy and cross-legged like the Psammead, right on the concrete on the forecourt, desperate for some sun. Not a good start!

Eventually the next train came, and I got some joy (as usual) out of the shape of the Go trains. They’re green and white, and narrower at the ends than in the middle; it’s hard to explain but fairly distinctive. I sat on the train for an hour and, on arrival at Toronto Union station, experienced my next farce – not having any more cash, I had to walk a few blocks to an ATM before I could go BACK to the station to buy my daily ticket before LEAVING the station again. A daily ticket costs around 10 bucks; surely there’s some justification there for an EFTPOS facility?

Anyway, grumps aside, I decided that I should probably go to the CN tower. It was a clear day, and I’ve been to Toronto many times before and never paid homage to its biggest icon, so I guessed it was time to do so. I started the walk, but of course the direct link/Skywalk between the station and the tower was closed for renovation so I had to go the long way around. I have to say… the whole experience wasn’t much cop. I paid to go to the top but the walkway was closed, so in the end I got a view of about 45 degrees (the rest of the top circle is taken up by a restaurant), looking away from the city, across an industrial area/airport and over the lake. Still, I felt a sense of achievement in having ticked the CN tower off the city ‘to do’ list, and decided to go and freak myself out by walking over the glass floor area on the lower deck. When I got there it was, not surprisingly, very crowded and, more surprisingly, in bad nick. The glass was scratched, dirty and difficult to see through clearly, and the view down was directly over a nondescript building site. I’m sure that there are times when it’s bloody brilliant up there, but I must’ve just picked the wrong season and the wrong time. Give it a few months and that building site will probably be a beautiful garden or something! Sigh. A little disappointed, I wandered out of the tower in search of better adventure.

Boy, did I find it. I love being a nerd. I hopped the #504 streetcar down King Street, headed to the eastern suburbs, and got off just a block or two away from the infamous DeGrassi Street! Yeah, yeah, I KNOW that the school isn’t real, and I KNOW that all the good stuff got knocked down years ago, and I KNOW that Joey Jeremiah is now a bald, fat has-been, but I was still excited. DeGrassi, fergawdsake! Childhood legend! Spike! Wheels! Snake! THE ZIT REMEDY!!!! Okay, I’ll stop using exclamation marks now. I’m guessing from the area that it was once a working-class hub, but has since become a bit trendy (due, in no small part I’m sure, to its TV infamy); later investigations on my part into houses on sale on DeGrassi Street revealed prices of $900,000 and upwards. Yikes! I have to say, though, that the houses were beautiful; old-style multi-storey brick duplexes mixed with even older bungalows with little porches. I passed the corner where Yik Yu (ha ha ha) called the agony aunt on the radio; I passed the corner where, allegedly, the DeGrassi grocery store used to be; I passed a couple of the kids’ houses, I passed the primary school, and I passed the park. I was in dork heaven.

After thoroughly exploring the street from end to end, I stopped to watch the squirrels playing for a little while and then walked down to an interesting corner that I had spotted on the tram on the way in. Here, I found a little clutch of vegan bakeries, health food shops and a Caribbean jerk joint, called The Real Jerk; it looked pretty damn good. Unfortunately I wasn’t really hungry enough for a giant meal and I felt like I was running a bit short on time if I wanted to meet Jason after he finished work, so I just stopped for a delicious snack at the LPKs Culinary Groove, a vegan bakery. I had a chocolate soymilk smoothie with bananas and strawberries, and two cookie sandwiches – one double chocolate and one chocolate chip… I couldn’t figure out the filling (vegan cream? I think not) but the girl explained that it was a vegetable shortening that they used instead of a dairy one, and that they just topped it up with sugar and other good stuff to keep it tasty. Not bad at all!

From there, I raced into the city and headed for the Eaton Centre to run my errands; I had to buy suncream, bug repellent, shampoo and pyjama bottoms (my favourite ones, which I had brought with me, died a terrible, holey death in Vegas… I tried stitching them but they tore again!). I hate shopping at the best of times, but the hunt for pyjamas was the worst. I just wanted some el cheapo ones but everywhere I saw was asking $40 and above, and only sold them as a set with a top. In the end, I managed to find a thoroughly ugly pair in Sears for $12, which was on sale because it was part of a Christmas-themed set and the top had been nicked. Bargain… I think! :s

I was done by 5ish and set about waiting for Jason to get in touch regarding dinner. I waited and waited, but come 6:15 I still hadn’t heard from him. I called and left a message, but there was no answer, and by 7:15 I’d kind of had it. It turns out that in this day of comedic errors he had not received my earlier texts and had gone to play squash instead; by the time I called Frenda to tell her I was coming home, he was on the other line wondering where I was. In the end, after a bit of to and fro chaos and a rush to find a phone booth (not a simple matter in this age of mobile phones) so that I wouldn’t be spending gazillions on roaming charges, I did get the chance to see him. I got the subway out closer to his place and we had Korean food for dinner, which was really nice, but I had to leave fairly quickly to get the subway and then the train back to Burlington (and besides, he had work the next day too). What a fiasco. By the time I got to the station in Burlington it was nearly midnight and I was freezing and desperate for the bathroom; I called the local taxi number that Jason had given me and it turned out to be a number for some Chinese doctor’s answering machine. Thank god there was a man just finishing his shift at the station; he spotted that one of the digits was wrong, and gave me a coin to make the call (as I had spent the last ones I had on the calls in Toronto and the call to Doctor Wang). What a way to end the day.

Still, as I said, I enjoyed myself thoroughly on my walk around the DeGrassi area, and I enjoyed catching up with Jason, brief as it was, so the day was not a total loss. I went to bed that night confident in the knowledge that the next day would be better!

Thanks for stopping by,

Tara.

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SQUIRRELS!!!! Toronto, March 2012

22 Apr

Looking back at my time in Toronto, it really was a quiet little trip. There were a couple of days where I went adventuring into central Toronto, but mostly it was spent at Frenda’s place, using the internet and hanging out with Sophie the Wonderdog. And really, I have to say, that suited me down to the ground. I knew that Cuba would involve a lot of activity so it was kind of like the calm before the storm!

Saturday 24th March – I set my alarm for 11am, but ended up sleeping until 12:30… still trying to get my body clock into order after jetlag and unusual hours in Vegas! Frenda and Adrian were out most of the day, so I just pottered around the house. It was nice seeing bilingual products again – the maple breakfast cereal had French on one side of the box and English on the other. Flip it over – one minute you’re in Quebec, then flip again and you’re in Ontario… Quebec, Ontario, Quebec, Ontario…! Dinner with Frenda and Adrian.

Sunday 25th March – I managed to get my ass out of bed at 10, had more cereal for brekkie, and tootled again while Frenda and Adrian went out. When Adrian came back home, he and I took Sophie for a nice long walk down to the lakeshore and back. I saw my first squirrels of the trip! That’s when I knew for sure that I was in the northern hemisphere! The view from the cliff on the edge of the lake was just beautiful, and the lake’s so big that you can’t see the other side. Right on the lakeshore there was an ugly monstrosity of a house for sale, complete with a massive, hideous statue of a fisherman outside. I was just wondering which people in their right minds would want to live in a giant eyesore like that, all grey brick and ugly facade, when an ugly monstrosity of a car pulled up and a bunch of ugly monstrous people got out of it to look at the house. Sigh. There’s no accounting for taste! On the walk back home, we bumped into – and chatted to – a few people from the neighbourhood; all of them had a pronounced Canadian accent, which was surprising. I don’t often come across Canadian accents that strong! They seemed like lovely people, and all of them had dogs and cats running around the place.

After getting back from the walk, Frenda, Adrian and I all got ready, and they very kindly took me out for dinner in Toronto for my birthday, along with Jason and Julia (their son and his fiancee). The celebration was a day early, of course, but it worked out better that way because they all had to work on the Monday and I really wanted to celebrate it with all of them. We went to a place in Chinatown called ‘A Taste of China’, and the food was mind-blowingly good. There was deep-fried tofu, chilli chicken with crispy noodles, lobster with garlic and an amazing selection of greens (my favourite is always the snow pea shoots, which always seem more crispy than some of the alternatives). Yum! After dinner, we said our goodbyes to Jason and Julia, and started the long drive back to Burlington. What a lovely evening. After we got back, we all went to bed, but of course I couldn’t sleep so I HAD to watch a couple of episodes of the Walking Dead Season 2… my new addiction!!! Fantastic television, totally riveting… it was hard to stop watching and go back to bed!

Monday 26th March – My birthday! Having already had my celebration in Brissie before I left, and the dinner out the night before, I was happy to have a quiet day while Frenda and Adrian went to work. When Frenda came home, she made a beautiful salmon dish with ginger and onions, and after chatting for a while we all went to bed… and I indulged in more Walking Dead! 😉

Tuesday 27th March – more of the same as above. Quiet pottering with Sophie.

I’ll tell you all about my last two days in Toronto another time. Until then, thanks for stopping by!

Tara.

 

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Sophie The Wonderdog, Las Vegas & Toronto, March 2012

22 Apr

Hey guys! Sorry I’ve been away for a while; I was in Cuba and unable to get access to the internet! I’m in the USA right now, about to start the big USA road trip, but it occurs to me that I still haven’t told you about the end of Vegas, or anything about Toronto, for that matter! As for Cuba, I’m dedicating a special page to it which I’ll update as I have the time… it might take a while to get through it all day by day, so feel free to check in every once in a while to see the updates. The page I created for Cuba can be found here, but be warned – there’s nothing much on it just yet! 🙂

So where were we? Ah yes, Vegas to Toronto. My apologies if it’s a bit perfunctory… I want to get working on Cuba ASAP! 😉

Friday 23 March – I woke up, packed and got ready before Karl and I drove to pick up Aunty C on the way to the airport. My checkin was superfast – quite the change to all the previous times I’ve been to Vegas airport, where I’ve spent hours rotting in a glacial queue praying for freedom! We went to a little place at the terminal called Alejandro’s, where we had a pretty good brekkie which was surprisingly cheap compared to Aussie airport standards. Once again: Aussies are being ripped off for every penny. I said a sad goodbye to Karl and Aunty C… geez, I love my family in Vegas! The security process was, again, quite painless (will wonders never cease), and the flight was nothing special – I basically watched crappy Entertainment Tonight-style shows and wished for it to be over!

On arrival in Toronto, I had to go to a special immigration area to get my working holiday visa cleared; there were a bunch of people all haggling with the immigration officers in broken English, which was a little sad – I’m glad I wasn’t in their position! The woman who processed my visa was actually very friendly, and before I knew it I was on my way out to baggage claim. A guy at the customs desk saw my entry ticket and yelped, “730 days? You’re going to be here for 730 days?!?” so I had to explain my situation; he looked pretty peeved and frowned maniacally but couldn’t really argue, I guess.

Frenda (my godmother) and her husband Adrian met me as I came through the doors. It’s always good to see them; I know they’re not blood relations but they do feel like family. The weather in Toronto was not as chilly as I had expected, and was actually warmer than Vegas – a balmy 14 degrees! We went straight back to Burlington as it was already getting late and it was a long drive; Frenda had made a delicious chicken with some roasted eggplant; she’s such a great cook. I was also happy to see Sophie, the house dog. Half Alsation and half sausage dog, she has tiny little legs on a big Alsation body. She is one of the most awesome, friendly dogs EVER, although she did seem less active than she was in 2007 when I last saw her; I guess age gets to everyone in the end!

After dinner I snuggled into bed and was out like a light before I knew it. And there began my time in Toronto.

Thanks for stopping by,

Tara.

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