USA

A New Hope

After leaving Dutch country we drove north across Pennsylvania listening intently to our tour guide in the GPS when she told us to keep to the left or right so we wouldn’t miss the freeway exit. And while that sounds easy, it’s not. There are hundreds of them. While we would describe the exits from our freeways by place names -Marulan, Sutton Forest etc or colloquially as the one with the BP, the one with the Maccas or the one with the very large sheep, there are so many exits on each freeway in the states that they are numbered. We took lots that were in the 50s and 60s. As we headed further  north towards New jersey, the freeways turned into highways and the houses started to look suspiciously like the ones we had seen around Rhode Island except  more moneyed -in fact it reminded us of a US version of the Southern Highlands and it was a similar commuting distance from NYC as Bowral is from central Sydney. And when we arrived in New Hope that became much clearer. (The Bazaar –  the Tea Party – this is from my favourite Tea Party Album, Transmission where they discovered electronica to complement their impressive collection of world music instruments).

New Hope is like the Southern Highlands or Blue Mountains on steroids. Alternative fashion and lifestyle stores, vintage stores full of funky clothes and bric-a-brac sit comfortably amongst upscale eateries with fairy-lit outdoor dining. We arrived in town as the sun was setting. We drove along Main Street until we found a man place to park. It was Friday night and the place was clearly teeming with New Yorkers escaping the city for the weekend. We drove to the end of the street and found an empty lot where the owner was charging a few bucks for parking. He was also sitting there all evening so we figured all our gear would be safe in the hire car. We walked across a bridge above what looked like it used to be a working loch. And the first shop I came across was a Christmas shop. Of course I had to buy something for my tree. The shop was quaint and sold similar products to those in the Edinburgh Christmas Shop, at the Santa village and at the Bredbo Christmas Barn. The challenge of course was to find something a little bit American without being too commercially crass. Which would have been very easy. In the end I chose a candy cane over the coca cola or M&M decorations. After that we took a wander up Main Street -lots of the shops were still open -it was by now about 7pm so we were hopeful that our pilgrimage to New Hope to find the last remaining Love Saves the Day store. Love Saves the Day used to be in New York’s East Village. In fact the vintage shop which houses one of the most eclectic selection of clothes and bric-a brac and was featured in one of my fave 80s  movies, Desperately Seeking Susan, was really an NYC institution. Was. About a year and a half ago after several decades they closed their doors in NYC and kept only the New Hope store. Which also was not open. It did have an awesome storefront though. And we took pics. The main difference between here and the Southern Highlands? The Southern Highlands would never let a Starbucks set up shop. TC and I were relieved New Hope did. We grabbed a couple of hot chocolates and kept meandering along. As the remainder of the shops began to close, we decided to bid farewell New Hope, a town to which we would like to someday return. (Know Your Product -The saints -with Ed Keupper they rock -Chris Bailey and friends just isn’t really The Saints).

New Hope
The Christmas Store

Buggies, bonnets and etiennes

It wasn’t long before we saw our first buggy and then our first Amish man ploughing a field by hand. We may have arrived too late for snow in New York and too early for cherry blossoms in Washington but we were spot on when it came to field cultivation in Dutch country. There were tractors too for the ‘English’ farmers that dared to use electricity and a full slice of country America. This seemed more foreign than all of the cities we had visited so far. It was like another world. Masny of the houses has five pointed stars on their doors. TC and I speculated on what they could mean. The houses they were on look too n modern for them to be tied to anything Amish. We thought they might be connected to those families with members serving in the military but there were just far too many of them. We asked someone at a store later on and it turns out they are a recently popular religious symbol to do with blessing the fortunes of those who reside in or visit the home.

We stopped in Lancaster to visit the local market which had stalls of Amish wares as well as other local produce.  I had always considered being Amish as a binary state – it doesn’t appear to be (unless there are a whole heap of ‘English’ blatantly dressing up as Amish to sell there wares). The women dressed in bonnets and Amish garb were using cash registers and microwave ovens and in once case I heard an Amish-dressed woman speaking Dutch on a mobile phone. And it wasn’t rumspringer – although there were a few younger people who may have been going through this process (including a girl wearing etiennes skate shoes with her Amish garb), many of them were older and they were mostly women. We missed the Amish handcrafts in Lancaster but we did pick up some locally made snacks – cheddar chex mix, freckles, homemade peanut butter cups, Lancaster cheese (from Lancaster, Pa), ham and a glorious pepperoni sausage. (The Weeping Song – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – I picked this album up recently at Landspeed in the $10 bin – it is a classic and deserves to be treated with more respect).

From Lancaster, we headed just a few miles up the road to Bird-in-Hand. The Amish folk were plentiful here – and we saw many of them including young children on the way. It had been some time since breakfast so we grabbed a couple of hotdogs – mine was a kraut dog – laden with locally-made sauerkraut. And here’s where it got confusing – there were lots of stores selling quilts and things made from wood – some staffed by Amish folk and others not  And here’s where you need to be careful if you shop Amish – about half the stuff in the store is made in China. I looked at quilts – some were beautiful and beautifully crafted but then I thought – what the hell am I going to do with a quilt so I settled on a slightly bohemian looking handbag and a pin cushion for my travelling shelf, both of which were crafted locally.

Just down the road is the town of Intercourse, also an Amish hamlet, so you can imagine the tacky T-shirts/postcards/shot glasses available. I have to admit I found the Amish country choppers (with a buggy pic) slightly amusing. There is though, something inherently wrong with the touristy commercialisation of Amish culture.  As fascinated as I am by the Amish, I did feel a little guilty for my voyeurism. Perhaps it’s a good thing we didn’t get to see The Wire locations in Baltimore – there is probably more wrong with that kind of ghetto tourism. Whjen the sun goes down and you leave, the people in the poorest parts of Baltimore have to stay – they have no choice. At least the Amish choose to live the way they do despite preferring to do it without voyeurs like us.

The farms are tightly clustered. It’s not like Australia where there can be miles between farmhouses. The Amiosh live side by side with the English. While I am sure there are Amish that live strictly according to their religion, it seems there are many that straddle the divide – perhaps English by day and Amish after sundown? At any rate it was a slice of American life that was interesting to see. The Amish farms and signs about where to buy quilts faded into the distance a few miles from Intercourse as we once again hit the highway. Placing our faith in the god of the GPS, we headed north towards Newe hope. We changed highways a number of times but only had to pay one toll. The tolls work differently here. If you don’t have the equivalent of an e-tag, you get a ticket when you enter the tollway and pay when you leave. The fee is calculated according to your journey, rather than a flat fee like in Australia. There are also attendants – no such thing as an automatic toll booth here.

Tank girl

We programmed the handy GPS system to take us to the US army proving ground at Aberdeen, Maryland. It got us there, via a three lane freeway, but to the wrong gate. Apparently we had to find a different entrance. We must have circled the town of Aberdeen about three times before we found it. Then we had to get out of the car and get a visitor’s pass, which included having our photo taken. We then drove in to find the tank museum -which was essentially a field littered with tanks on blocks. Predictably I passed up the opportunity to check out the US arsenal so I let TC wander around with a camera while I programmed the GPS for the rest of our trip. Thankfully Bird-in-Hand and New Hope were a bit smaller than Baltimore so I could do it without the laptop. I didn’t even hassle TC when he came back to the car -our hire car was a PT cruiser  -I don’t know what it was like to drive,  as I didn’t really have the guts to drive on the wrong side of the road, but the passenger seat was really comfy. We headed west from Aberdeen onto what appeared to be the byways and local highways of Pennsylvania -Dutch country -we were off to find the Amish.

Death on a Baltimore street corner

After experiencing the tourist panic of ‘shit – shouldn’t have had those wines last night – slept through the alarm (although TC swears he watched me get up and turn it off) and only have 30 mins to shower and pack (and remarkably not leaving anything behind, we headed to BWI to pick up our rental car – sure that meant catching a train and then two different airport shuttles to get to it but we didn’t really fancy the idea of driving in DC and after seeing the street configurations in the capital, it didn’t seem like the best place to learn driving on the right. Unfortunately we lost quite a bit of tiome this way (which became more apparent later in the day.

We headed straight to Baltimore with a plan of attack to drive around some of the filming locations for everyone’s fave TV show –the Wire. We pulled into the port area and headed across the road to what appeared to be a Southern style chain. We basked in the sun (did I mention it was now so hot we were wearing T-shirts) and ordered a Southern breakfast. I had eggs over easy, crisp apple smoked bacon and grits. I chose grits over hash but shouldn’thave – grits is kind of starchy and creamy but without much flavor – a bit bland really and again with the scones. If you ever go to the states, get everything on rye. Everything else tastes like a maccas bun. TC chose the southern style benedict which comes with pulled pork – cooked pork that is then pulled apart – has a ham or bacony flavour. It comes atop collard greens rather than muffins and is topped with a heavy layer of cheese. That’s where the cholesterol problem in the US comes from – pretty much everything has a cheese option. The restaurant, although quite upmarket didn’t have espresso (or café latte) so I had my first good ol’ American cup’o’joe. I took the laptop with me so we could peruse the wire locations we intended to visit. Right there on that street corner in Baltimore I got the black screen of death. A windows file is missing – put the CD in the drive it told me. It’s a baby laptop – it doesn’t have a CD ROM drive much less a windows disk – stupid windows.

We decided to have a bit of a quick drive around Baltimore to see what we could without knowing where we were going. Given we didn’t want to wind up like the computer, we were a bit conservative about where we went. We just went for a quick drive around the waterfront and then headed through the suburbs. We saw waterfront, row houses and the Baltimore Police but didn’t manage to find any souvenirs or (happily) get killed on a drug corner. But we did go to Baltimore.

Just like Canberra only crunchy

We arrived at Washington’s Union Station on time and surrounded by train passengers that looked a lot like political staffers – perhaps they had also worked out that if you have to arrive two hours early to the airport (which in New York can take more than an hour to get to) then train travel is probably a better mode of transport. We emerged from the tracks into the cavernous marbled main hall. It was magnificent – more like a grand old hotel lobby than a train station. We took our first cab ride to our hotel, which was in south-east DC – the wrong side of the tracks (or in this case freeway. I of course tried to get in the front seat of the cab and freaked out because there was someone already sitting there – the driver. The hotel looked like a 1950s imagining of the future in moulded concrete, replete with outdoor pool. Something like the Carlton Vibe in Melbourne and this one too had been redecorated inside. There was actually little around it. Off in the distance you could see housing projects but the industrial slums around the hotel had been knocked down and the lots were being used for car parking. (Last Goodbye – Jeff Buckley – so glad I went to see him play what turned out to be an intimate show at the Royal Theatre just weeks before he drowned in the Mississippi River)

After a decent night’s sleep, we ventured downstairs to sample the hotel’s $9.99 all-you can eat breakfast. We were in the south now so the pancakes were served with corn syrup and the accent had changed once again. After a decent breakfast it was off to the National Mall on the shuttle. Probably because of the hotel’s location, they offer a free shuttle. We found that, unlike Canberra, the taxi fares were quite reasonable – from here into town, it was usually less than $10. And yes we remembered to tip the taxi drivers. One guy actually gasped at the size of the tip – I think I gave him a fiver but he did pull across at least four  lanes of traffic to get us in front of our restaurant. We all know Australians used to have a reputation for not tipping. I wonder if we now over-tip to compensate for that – perhaps the drivers and waiter actually cheer now when they get an Aussie customer. (Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley – a truly beautiful rendition)

When we arrived at the National Mall, TC and I parted ways – he headed off to Dulles Airport to visit the Smithsonian’s second hangar while I made a beeline for the Capitol, for my tour. I had about 20 minutes to spare so was sure I would be fine, until I got closer. There was a massive line. Once I finally got inside, about 20 minutes late for my tour, there was the same sort of screening as in Parliament House in Canberra, which is the least you would expect. It turned out it was pretty easy to get a spot on another tour, especially as there was only one of me. The tour was well worth it. You did get herded around a bit because of the number of tour groups going through at any one time but I’m pretty sure I got the best tour guide. We visited the main hall under the Capitol’s dome where there were a few interesting tidbits – the reason the frieze around the inside of the dome was painted rather than carved is because the artist told them it would be quicker and cost less than if he carved it. And therein lies the quintessential difference between Europe and the US. The Europeans would never have tried to fake a carving in this way.   I am convinced my Dad was lured by an American idea when he got someone to lacquer brushstrokes over a print in the 70s. The frieze still took three artists and a century to complete. It starts wiuth Columbus and ends with the Wright brothers. There is also a statue of Ronald Reagan with an interesting quirk. Reagan was the one who told the Russiand to tear down the berlin Wall so the artist used broken bits from the wall in the base of the statue. In the crypt downstairs we were told that after Washington’s family decided against his burial there, They commissioned a statue. Unfortunately the artist thought that it should be done in Roman style, replete with toga and bare chest – as you can imagine that didn’t go down very well and the crypt remains empty to this day. The last tidbid was my favourite. Each state gets to have two statues in the Capitol Building. One of Florida’s statues is in what was originally the Senate chamber – it’s of the guy who invented air-conditioning. After the tour I collected some tickets (easy as) and went and watched the Senate and House, which were much like ours – mostly empty unless something big was being debated – which it wasn’t. (Everybody Wants to Rule the World – Tears for Fears – one of the world’s most depressing bands. They are supporting Spandau ballet on their upcoming tour – the 80s really are back).

Exiting the Capitol building onto the National Mall, Washington seems a lot like Canberra – wide open spaces and museums and monuments everywhere. The main differences are they have much smaller bodies of water, much of the architecture is Greek or Roman inspired instead of modern  and there are no squirrels. TC, who is like Dr Doolittle was quite taken with the squirrels. I headed off towards the newseum. I think the most interesting past for me was the front pages to newspapers from all of the states (from the day I visited) lined up outside. I know Australians are parochial but the Berlin Wall exhibition here was all about what the Americans did from Reagan telling Gorby to ‘tear down this wall’ to the AP reporter who stayed up all night to get photos of the crossing. What about the Berliners – surely they rate a mention in their own history. There was also an exhibition celebrating 100 years of the FBI which turned ny stomach. Much of the focus was on the capture and execution of the perpetrators, rather than the investigation. In one case this actually included the electric chair used in the execution. I made a decision right then not to hand over money to visit the spy museum. There was also a pretty good 911 exhibitioin and you could pretend to be a TV reporter and have it recorded. As I’m on holidays, I chose not to take this option. (Franco Un-American – NOFX – written during the Bush presidency, this snapshot of American culture and attitudes still has some truth. Today’s news had a story about an 8yo being arrested for taking over a store mic and telling all the black people to leave Walmart.)

TC returned from his jaunt out to Dulles and we met at the Washington Memorial, which is like the Telstra Tower of Downtown Washington DC – you can tell where you are in relation to it. What you don’t see in the usual pics is that it (like lots of things here, is circled by American flags. From here we headed toward the White House Visitor’s Centre. No tour of course – foreign nationals need to get their embassy to organise it and DFAT doesn’t. The visitor’s centre was interesting, and the gift shop, while small, offered some gems. Then we joined the other throngs of tourists to take photos in front of the white house, well the fence in front of the white house. From here we walked over to the Kennedy Centre, which is much more impressive inside – the foyer is many stories high with flags of all the world’s countries hanging from the ceiling. I stood on the terrace and pretended for a moment that I was CJ standing there in her blue Armani – well I can pretend (about being CJ and about looking good in an Armani dress). From here we took our chances crossing what seemed to be a major thoroughfare and headed to the Lincoln Monument. The steps seemed to be a common end point on the mall for many tourists. The memorial itself was pretty impressive. I am sure it would have been more impressive  if you were there on your own instead of surrounded by four score and twenty other people. And his eyes really do follow you. We had planned toi walk over to Arlington cemetery bu7t with all the travelling, we were beginning to fade and quite conveniently, there was a taxi rank nearby. Once our cab driver realized we were Australian, he started talking about cricket – he was Pakistani. In fact, as with Australia, a large percentage of the cabbies here are from the sub-continent, those that aren’t African-ameriocan anyway. You can really see the racial divide in the US – the majority of staff in service industries are African American or Latino. Except the aforementioned cabbies. Anyway, we headed back to the hotel to deal with the mundane side of travelling – doing some washing – we, quite rightly, surmised there was unlikely to be a laundry in any NYC hotel at the star level we were staying in and when the price of laundering a shirt is quoted at $7, there was no chance we were going to send the laundry out. (Medio-core – NOFX – my fave NOFX album.

Collard greens and gravy

We had an insider’s tip that the best southern food was to be had at Georgia Brown’s in downtown Washington DC. Apparently it has quite a reputation – the door staff at the hotel and the cabbie referred to it as a good restaurant – the guys on the door jokingly asked us to bring them back a plate. And they weren’t wrong. It was exceptional. As with all waitstaff in good restaurants in the US, they were very attentive. We were served bread on our arrival (which was actually a scone) , had the menu explained to us and had fresh iced water on the table. We ordered drinks – TC had a beer and I a glass of Sauvignion Blanc – unfortunately the only locally produced (California)whites on the menu were all Chardonnays so mine was actually a New Zealand wine – strike one for me. One of the confusing things about the US menu is that entrees are called appetizers and main meals are called entrees (that and the fact that like northern Europe there is no ground floor in any of the buildings). After some time we ordered up big and finished none of what we ordered but we did get to taste quite a few dishes. There is a tasting plate for two but it was filled with all the things on the menu that weren’t really that tempting such as fried liver.

I chose two appetizers – devilled eggs which were done with truffle oil and were delicious. They came served on what I can only describe as  a micro oil finished potato salsa. My other appetizer choice was (perhaps predictably) mini crab cakes. They came on a sort of vegetable has and were absolutely divine. The best crab cakes I have ever had in fact. TC had a Caesar salad which came with extras – including a southern style barbecue chicken.  TC couldn’t resist the southern fried chicken with smashed red potatoes and said while it tasted remotely like KFC, was much, much better. I chose the fried turkey which may sound a bit boring but I chose it mainly for the accompanying side dishes. The turkey was actually the most disappointing part – not because it was done poorly but just because it was a style I didn’t like. Fried turkey is exactly that – roast breast turkey sliced and then fried as if was a ham steak. The gravy too wasn’t really out of the ordinary. However, the collard greens were exceptional – spinach cooked with a slightly vinegary taste. I can also report that candies yams taste like a cross between pumpkin and sweet potato but sweeter and that smashed red (Idaho) potatoes are delightful. At least the was Georgia Breown’s makes them. We did peruse the dessert menu but regretfully decided against it . the likes of apple cobbler really does require room in your stomach – it’s not like say gelato where you can always eat a couple of mouthfuls. So we bid farewell to our hosts and headed back to the hotel to sleep contentedly before making our way to Baltimore Airport the next morning to pick up our hire car.

South to DC

We arrived a little early for the train with a plan of getting the seats around the table, but apparently these are reserved for groups of three or more people travelling together. We went back through the same countryside as yesterday, arriving in New York at Sunset. The city skyline was breathtaking and as we drew closer, we could see the Empire State Building against the sunset – that was worth the trainfare alone. Unfortunately we were delayed in New York for some problem with a carriage on the train (I think). American accents are just as hard to understand over a PA as any other (including the people who work for Cityrail in Sydney. So we were late leaving NYC and as we sped south through New Jersey and Pennsylvania, it was clear the train driver was trying to pick up time for a close to on-timr arrival in Washington DC.

For Boston

After a bit of a sleep in, we dropped our bags at the front desk (and remembered to tip the man carrying our bags (who I don’t feel comfortable calling a bellhop) and headed out into Boston. We had a bit of an ambitious agenda which eventually got pared back by half.  First stop – the red sox Merchandise temple at Fenway Park. I had it in mind to buy a Red Sox shirt –a proper  baseball style one but they were around $100 which was a bit more than I was willing to pay. I settled on a Red Sox baseball, which will look pretty good on my tacky memorabilia shelf – the place where snow globes find a home. (Tessie – Dropkick Murphys – the last Murphys’ tune I promise (but I’m inspired) this one is their tribute to the Red Sox who won their first World Series in a very long time (if not ever) a couple of years ago.)
From here we headed along Commonwealth Avenue – no the revolution didn’t reach quite that far – which is much moiré impressive than ourt own. Sure ours goes across a lake but the one in Boston is a European –style tree-line boulevarde surrounded by Queen Anne style row houses. Next stop – Newbury Street – home of all things funky in Boston.  First stop a jewellery store that didn’t really live up to its promise – there were a few decent acrylic rings in really small finger sizes but that was it. Newbury Comics was exactly the opposite – throwing up a plethora of options – TC purchased a Joy Division T he had been looking for and I found an incredibly funky cap. Dressed in my fave tartan dress, my new coat and hat, I think I actually looked quite stylish (as opposed to fashionable). As we wandered further along the street we made a brief stop at a North Face store that didn’t have the boots I found online that they won’t ship to Australia. From there it was op shops all the way. Like most, the range for those over size 12 was minimal but there was some beautiful stuff, including a range of 50s and 60s prom  dresses. The prices were a bit exy to think about buying  anything to modify but I was definitely tempted by an unusual Burberry velvet jacket. Not tempted enough though. (There goes the fear – Doves – some of you will recognize this as the annoying message tone on my phone.
Once we reached the end of Newbury Street it was obvious we were going to have to forgo the last two items from our wishlist – lunch at the Union Oyster House and a visit to a model shop on the other side of the Charles River. We did grab a quick lunch – TC an all-American hotdog and me a burrito, which they wrapped on both ends to form a parcel and which had rice and beans in it. We went back to the hotel, checked out and wandered up to the T station. It was here that what I hope will be the only clutz episode of this trip occurred. Wearing my quite heavy backpack (with the daypack on my chest I missed the step and fell forwards – fortunately just onto my knees, which resulted in grazed knees and torn leggings. Lessons for Boston for next time – and there will be a next time, I am enamoured with the place – watch your footing in the T stations, remember not all roads cross the Mass Pike and definitely plan to stay a bit longer. (Cherub Rock – Smashing Pumpkins – the Pumpkins aren’t from Boston but this song reminds me of winter, which is a bit like Boston)

Live on Landsdowne

Entering The House of Blues was like the airport all over again. First you stood in line, then a security guard checked your ticket and ID and gave you a wristband – and I mean checked everybody’s ID –  sure you need to be 21 to drink in the states but it’s a bit of a stretch to suggest that either of us  look younger than 21.  Anyway once you’ve passed the ID check, they check your bag and frisk you. After that the door bitch checks your ticket and then another (male) door bitch directs you to the right floor.
(Boys on the Docks – Dropkick Murphys – the song where the Murphys invite as many people (mostly guys) as will fit onto the stage – not to be confused with Kiss me I’m Shitfaced which only results in girls being invited on stage.)
The House of Blues has three floors – like Europe, there is no Ground floor – the first floor is on the  ground. We were on the second level (which looked good on the venue map but which turns out to have only been a good choice if you were there at the start of the show. The set up is kind of like The Enmore with an extra level between the balcony and floor areas except it isn’t sloped and is standing room only and the balconies extend right along the sides up to the stage. It was however a quite spectacular atrium (and the walls were lined with artworks. We handed over our cash at the merch stand – T-shirts $15 rather than the $40 they seem to have creeped up to in Australia – and settled in for the show.
For those who don’t know, the Dropkick Murphys play a string of shows each year in Boston for St Patrick’s Day. This run started with a show on 12 March and goes right through to 17 March. Tix for the St Pat’s Day show sold out months before we even planned our US trip so we did the next best thing and booked the St Pat’s day eve show. And weren’t disappointed. ( Forever – Dropkick Murphys – a beautiful ballad – if you are planning a wedding and don’t like the aforementioned Nick Cave song this would also work as opposed to their version of Amazing Grace which I expect to be played at my wake)
As well as a pipe band on stage, there was a troupe of Irish dancers accompanying what I think is one of the world’s most fun punk bands. There were some old hits mixed within the newer songs (which I have to admit I’m not that familiar with – it’s been a while since I purchased a Murphys  album). The show quite simply rocked. As they always do, the Murphys brought the whole crowd  along with them, rousing singalongs and all. (The Fields of Athenry – Dropkick Murphys – played for the first time in ages and dedicated to an Irish granny.)
Despite the beer-drinking theme to many of the Dropkick Murphys’ tunes, the show was oddly devoid of any of the usual displays of public drunkenness. There were more than 2500 people at the show and we didn’t see one person stumble drunk or see a fight (unless you count the guy and girl behind me who managed to throw beer at me as well as each other during their domestic.  After the show we headed back to the hotel past the local pizza joint where we purchased a slice of pepperoni and a slice of Hawaiian each. It wasn’t the best pizza I’ve ever eaten but it was true Italian style pizza – thin and crispy. Desert was another US junk food fave – a doughnut from  Dunkin’ Doughnuts. With full bellies and by now quite exhausted, we headed back to the hotel to crash. (Shipping Up to Boston – Dropkick Murphys – I have a T-shirt from this tour somewhere at home – if I didn’t lose it in Europe last year as that’s the last time I remember seeing it.)

Boston – enough to knock your socks off

After arriving at Back Bay Station in Boston, we wandered through the streets to find our hotel – again a Hilton. A poor sense of direction led to us getting sidetracked through streets full of Queen Anne style row houses – row houses are like the US version of terrace houses. These were constructed at probably about the turn of the century with that classic Queen Anne style and as they are three or four storeys tall, they resemble the fairytale princess tower on a castle. Built around treelined avenues, they are spectacular.
It was a beautiful sunny, clear blue skies day. It was chilly, especially in the shadows – scarf weather but gloves not really required. We were actually quite lucky with the weather in New York and boston. Although New York was grey – there was some very light rain for a few minutes when we arrived – there was no sign of the ferocious storms that had stopped all flights into NYC the previous day. Those same storms combined with the spring snow melt to cause flooding throughout the northeast of the country so we were lucky the train was still running. There were places along the way that looked like the water would have covered the train tracks the previous day. (Someday I Suppose – Mighty Mighty Bosstones – One of a number of my fave Bostonian bands – this song reminds me of one of my first solo travelling adventures – I drove to Jindabyne, had my first (miserable) attempt at snowboarding and saw a much better Bosstones show than the one they played the following night in Canberra)
We checked into the hotel where the staff were courteous and helpful. People were much friendlier here than we had seen in our short stop in New York. We checked into the room, which had a spectacular view of the Charles River. The room was quite large and comfortable except that like everywhere in the US so far, the heat was turned up so far, it felt like Tahiti. I had also been a bit freaked out by American toilets since our arrival and this was now the fourth one I had seen that operated in the same way. They look the same as Australian toilets except that the toilet bowl is about two thirds full of water. When you flush, instead of water coming out from the toilet rim, the water that’s already there gets sucked down and the bowl gets refilled (instead of the cistern). When I saw the first one at LAX, I actually thought there was a plumbing problem.
After a short sabbatical in the hotel – it transpires that TC is a bit more sensitive to jetlag than me – we headed out towards town to check things out. First stop – finding the local T-line station (Bostonians call their subway system the ‘T’ and the different lines are very helpfully coded by colour – were were on the green line but did venture on to the red line once or twice). Bonus – Australian credit cards work in the ticket machines. This is great because you always need lots of small notes in the US. And not just for the tipping. Most of the fast food outlets, coffee places and drug stores won’t change a $50. They just point blank refuse. You have to find other money or you don’t get your food. I saw people using visa to buy coffee. (Love will tear us Apart – Joy Division – one of the most poignant and painful love songs of all time.)
We exited the station at the corner of the famous Boston Common – from there we headed towards another famous Boston landmark – Feiline’s Basement. The infamous discount fashion warehouse began here in Boston. Unfortunately the GFC (or some other event but let’s blame the GFC) has meant the basement is void of bargains – just an empty shell with a closed sign out the front.  Hopefully the NYC store is still open for business. With no iconic Boston store in sight, we thought we’d try an iconic NYC store. Macy’s .  I found this great trench coat – well it’s not strictly a trench –it’s not belted and double breasted but is that kind of weight. It has these nifty silver clips instead of buttons.(Golden Brown – Strangers – always reminds me of the final scene in He Died with a Felafel in His Hand… wish I had have thought of writing that book).
It was a very controlled department store blitz – we are doing quite a bit of travelling yet and we are backpacking so the intent is to do some insane shopping in NYC where it won’t be too inconvenient if we have to get an extra bag. Of course that didn’t stop us from finding extra interesting things to overload our packs with. We wandered through the Downtown area, past the Old state House which is where the Declaration of Independence was first read to Bostonians in 1776 and where the Boston Massacre occurred.  From there we headed to tourist central down by the waterfront, where everything was gearing up for St Patrick’s Day. The parade was last weekend so the actual day in this uni town is a prime drinking opportunity. Down at the waterfront we visited the Boston Histrorical Society Gift Shop, full of all kinds of good stuff such as a copy of the Declaration of Independence that comes with a quill pen. (This Monkey’s Gone to Heaven – The Pixies – yes more Pixies – they are also Bostonians).
From there it was off to the other historic Boston site – Union Oyster House which opened in the 1820s and served the likes of John F Kennedy. Just in case there was any doubt the Kennedys were from New England, there are references to them everywhere. Alas, we didn’t have a chance to eat at the oyster house but we did at least visit.  We grabbed lunch from a bagel joint – TC had a sandwich and I a tomato and three cheese  melt – healthy – no – but it hit the spot. We then headed back to the T. TC went back for a snooze while I wandered the streets of Boston in search of our Dropkick Murphys tickets. As is usually the case with these things, it took me waaaaay longer to find it than it took to walk back to the hotel. Because of the Mass Pike (Massacheusetts freeway like road which is a tollway I’m assuming – there are pikes everywhere – stupid name for a road) – anyway, the streets run under others and only some cross the pike, which I was on the opposite side of than I needed to be.  This resulted in me walking all the way around a baseball stadium – Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox and the oldest baseball ground in the US. Once I arrived at another institution, the House of Blues, I collected the tickets and headed back to the hotel for a short kip before the show – needless to say we missed the supports – sacrilege I know but it was a necessary trade off to enjoy the Dropkicks as much as possible without falling asleep on my feet. Along with the other US things that take some getting used to – apart from repeating yourself because you’re the one with the funny accent – is the road crossing system. There are pedestrian crossings everywhere – some with lights and others without -but there aren’t any stop signs for cars so we are ywt to work out whether the cars have right of way when there aren’t any lights – as is the case in many European countries – or whether it’s like Australia. Then there are the lights. The Stop sign is a big red hand which flashes how many seconds you have left before cars run you over. The walk sign is confusing though – it’s still a walking man but he’s white. I keep missing the cross because I am waiting to see green out the corner of my eye. (Cannonball – The Breeders – the Deal sisters were really onto something – pity Kelley couldn’t keep it together.)