I’ve known since my Antarctic adventure that I’d need to make it
to North America at some point.Almost
everyone who crossed the Drake Passage with me was visiting their final
continent, while for me it was the sixth.There was little doubt that I’d need to rectify that.Add to this the fact that Cabaret, the very same
production I’d loved and seen twice in London last summer, had moved to
Broadway, and that Eddie Redmayne was reprising his role as Emcee; all
resistance was futile.While
continuously reminding myself that I shouldn’t afford the trip, I nevertheless
kept making purchases.
Not long after the Chinese New Year break in Feb 2024, the
planning started.As with my British
travelogue, I will have a rant about the visa procedure, and, as with that travelogue,
I will relegate it to my reflections right at the end.For now, I will just say that there were a
couple of hiccups; in the end, I’d spend most of August in the US.I contacted several friends, and by the end
of July, I’d arranged to meet up with Jen, Irene, Rob, Christine, Christopher,
Camilo and Erin.
A recent surgery meant I’d be carrying an infection along,
though I secured antibiotics to avoid visiting an American physician.About this surgery, the lead up to it and
what subsequently transpired, I could write at length, but it’s not within the
scope of a travelogue, so I’ll leave it be.Suffice it to say it was nothing life threatening, though I guess I was
lucky to escape the possible repercussions of bringing an infection on holiday.That was perhaps foolish, but once all the
money had been spent on the trip, I wasn’t going to be stopped. I decided early doors that the only show I
would book in advance was Cabaret.For the remainder, I’d be visiting Broadway
Tickets Last Minute Center, rolling the dice and seeing whatever I could get my
hands on.
(The statement I just made is a slight lie. After purchasing the
ticket for Cabaret, I got a
notification from Seat Geek that my next ticket would be subject to a discount
of 15% if I bought it within 24 hours.Well, then, we’d simply have to add The
Book of Mormon to my playlist, wouldn’t we?A little later in May, I found out via Vivid
Seats that Imagine Dragons would take Loom
on tour, and that one of their performances would be given in Mansfield,
Massachusetts.That, then, would be
added to my playlist.Furthermore, the
ticket for Cabaret came with
a notification that Eddie Redmayne would not be playing Emcee.What?!He was one of the mayne (chuckle!) reasons
for this trip!I tried desperately to
find out why this might be.Had he
already tired of the role and pulled out?What other cause might there be for this?It took several weeks for me to eventually
find a website that explained the matter.It turned out that he as Emcee and Gayle Rankin as Sally Bowles, who
were billed as the main attractions, would each take part in seven of the eight
weekly performances.Redmayne would be
replaced by an understudy on Monday evenings, and Rankin for Wednesday
matinees.The ticket I’d bought was for
a Monday evening.Having previously
tried and failed to reschedule, I knew it would not be possible, but I had
already decided to watch the show twice, and now elected to wait until my visa
was issued before booking a show in which Redmayne would perform.When that came through, I immediately got on
Seat Geek and secured my seat.Thus,
before departing Taiwan, I had four tickets purchased.)
As the date approached, I was notified by email about performances
that were being given in Taiwan. It was
difficult to say no, so I decided to use them as a springboard, both on the way
out and on the way back. Chicago was traveling in Asia,
and there were performances in various Taiwanese cities,
including
my own. August 1st was my
last day at work, and the musical would be in Taichung the night before.I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy it, but when I
discovered that the music was composed by the same minds that created Cabaret, I knew I’d have to
try.As it turned out, I didn’t love
it.The theme did not grab me in any
meaningful way, and while I did like the cadence of the music, it wasn’t as
enrapturing as Cabaret (or
indeed Miss Saigon, which I’d
seen once in June and then a second time in July).
The
next day, I left town directly from work, and headed to Taipei, where I’d
booked a night in a hotel in order to see Romeo
& Juliet,
the ballet with music by Prokofiev and choreography by Matthew Bourne. This I really loved. The setting was some sort of asylum for
young people. The following is from The New York Times.
“…he sets the story in
the white-tiled, stark environs of the Verona Institute, populated by teenagers
who are strictly policed by guards and medics.
Mr. Bourne brilliantly
evokes a world in which the young inmates are patrolled and controlled through
medication and punishment, their rigidly synchronized movement underlining
their lack of freedom. Lez Brotherston’s simple set emphasizes their
incarceration further: a white semicircle with three doors, framed by
staircases and a balcony, all enclosed by white fencing.
Juliet … is red-haired
and intense, preyed upon and eventually raped by the brutal guard Tybalt … . Romeo … is the twitchy, troubled son of
Senator and Mrs. Montague, who are extremely keen to wash their hands of their
embarrassing child.
Romeo is hustled into
his regulation white sweats by Mercutio and his boyfriend Balthasar, and
Benvolio, who form a cavorting trio. … This bond among the
boys, and its homoeroticism, is one of several instances in which Mr. Bourne
nods to ballet versions of “Romeo and Juliet,” particularly the one by Kenneth
MacMillan.
As in that ballet,
Romeo and Juliet meet at a dance governed by strictly regulated social
behaviors and power structures, organized here by the kindly Rev. Bernadette
Laurence … , a jolly hockey-sticks version of Shakespeare’s Friar
Laurence. … Their first rapturous, floor-rolling, limb-entwining,
passion-dazed duet … contains what may be the longest, most acrobatic kiss ever
sustained while dancing … .
But in Mr. Bourne’s
“Romeo and Juliet,” there are no warring families or feuds to propel the action
and the eventual tragedy. Instead there are other forces, particularly resonant
ones: mental health and sexual harassment.
Tybalt’s rape of
Juliet triggers the chain of disasters. When he later stumbles drunkenly upon
the lovers, and betrays his feelings for Juliet, he is mocked by the
adolescents. Enraged and humiliated, he pulls out a gun. Mercutio is killed in
the fracas, then Tybalt is strangled by the group, with Romeo left to take the
blame. The narrative suspense and urgency of these scenes, and the drama of the
two men’s deaths to Prokofiev’s thundering drum beats, is astounding theater
from Mr. Bourne, offering blazing energy from his terrific cast. …
… (The) scenic and
choreographic economy of means, wit and detail of movement, skillful deployment
of the Prokofiev score (the order of its numbers rearranged) — all are
astonishingly good.
But without exterior agents to propel the plot, and
with the variables of mental trauma as motivation, the greater resonances of
Shakespeare’s tragedy are sacrificed. There is no real causality between the
deaths of Mercutio and Tybalt and the deaths of Romeo and Juliet, no sense of
the everlasting inability to let go of hatred and fear. Then, in the final
scenes, Mr. Bourne takes a disconcerting departure from Shakespeare that
changes our sense of the story from tragedy to accident, and of the
protagonists from courageous rebels to tormented victims.”
After this magnificence, I retired for the night.I’d need to be at the airport by 11 AM the
next day, so I slept in a bit, and readied slowly in the AC.Passing through Hong Kong International Airport,
it felt like a sad shadow of its former self.I’d always gone from one flight, through transit security and into an
expansive shopping and dining area.This
time, there was only a small smattering on offer. I wandered for a little while, but eventually headed
to my gate.It was then that I realized,
no, they actually moved the transit security check to another part of the
airport. Or perhaps there had always been a second one there, but I hadn’t ever
been dropped off there. The
smorgasbord of offerings was still available, only I now had no time to
meander.
I had paid to select seats on the long hauls (Hong Kong to
Boston and back) to ensure I’d be on the aisle – the flight was meant to last 16
hours.The lucky woman in the seat
beside mine slept almost all the way.Cathay
Pacific was serving Russian juice! I was
initially surprised, but then remembered that I was traveling in a Chinese
airplane.The crew announced that US
regulations forbade passengers from gathering in groups in the aisles or galleys.
There was an infant in the row in front of mine, asleep as we took off, who I
was sure would wail during the trip. Its parents (excuse me using that pronoun,
but I couldn’t tell the infant’s gender) laid it into the airline-supplied cot
as soon as we reached cruising altitude. It remained silent all the way!The in-flight entertainment had a few options
for a theatre lover.I watched the
ballet Coppelia by Delibes, the opera La Traviata by Verdi, the ballet Nutcracker
by Tchaikovsky, and Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. I also watched the recent Charlie
and the Chocolate Factory film with Timothée Chalamet.I absolutely adore this actor.
The airplane skirted east of Japan, and avoided Russia by
gliding east of its Kamchatka Peninsula and Chukotka Autonomous Okrug.This seemed totally logical, avoiding Russia,
until I again remembered that I was on a Chinese aircraft.I guess it was weather-related.Then we soared above Alaska and across the
expanse of northern Canada, before heading southeast to Boston Logan
International Airport.
I departed Taipei
at 13:20 on August 2nd, and landed in Boston on the same day at 22:20
after 21 hours in transit.Of course, I
understand how this works, but it is nevertheless always noteworthy to me, this
matter of gaining and losing hours while airborne.
When I was at school, which is now geriatrically long ago, I was
taught about the BosWash megalopolis. This hardly seems an academic term in
hindsight, but at the time, I was hooked on the idea.Writing this travelogue now, I’ve found that
the area still carries a special name, though there are in fact several to
choose from: the Northeast megalopolis, the Northeast Corridor, Acela
Corridor, Boston-Washington Corridor, BosWash, or BosNYWash.It was this part of the US that I’d be
visiting on this trip.
Jen Barclay was there to meet me.(If you’ve read Frolicking on a Headless Ostrich about cultural adventures
in Bangkok, or Anchors Aweigh
about a short cruise out of Keelung, then you have read her name before.)We had initially planned to go to Irene Zydek’s
home for a nightcap, but as it was quite late, we drove directly to Jen’s Mom’s
home in Hull.Mom was already asleep,
though she was in Jen’s room having decided to let me sleep in hers.How unexpected and kind!I wasn’t able to stay awake for more than an
hour and was soon slumbering soundly.
When I woke on Saturday, the house was quiet, so I showered,
dressed and went downstairs.Linda had
waited in Jen’s room until she heard me descend, at which point I could hear
her readying above me.Jen herself was
still asleep on the sofa in the living room.I quite liked the design of the house, and indeed the appearance of the
other houses in the area.(This is a
snap from Google Maps; I didn’t take any pictures in Hull.)
When the ladies were active, we had some snacks and coffee, and
I walked the dog with Linda.Linda’s
West Highland Terrier is called Izibella Rose, and Jen assures me that she is
rather butch.(I didn’t get enough time
with her to confirm this.)The ladies
call her Izzy, while Jen calls her mom Billy.We pottered for a bit, and then Jen and I took a scenic route back to
the airport area, where Irene lives.Irene Zydek is the mother of a colleague of mine.I’ve met her several times in Taiwan.She spent her working years in the air, as
cabin crew for one of the American airlines – I forget which one.Her son, Ken, has lived in Taiwan for at
least as long as I have.Although we’d
moved in close circles, I’d not met him until he started working with me, which
I think was a decade ago.(I have been
at the same school for 20 years, and there have been so many people in and out
over that time, it’s really hard for me to remember who came when and who all
was there at any given point in the past.)Anyhoo, his mom has visited several times. Irene has now retired, and she declared her
February 2024 visit to be her last.At
that time, I had my second gallery showing, presenting my home after
renovations subsequent to my roommate moving out.Irene joined her son at Millford.
Leading up to my own trip to the US, I got a photo via Facebook
Messenger from Jen Barclay, one showing her, Ken and Peggy in a picture
together.At first I assumed it was a
picture from way back in the early days of my Taiwanese life, but then I
realised that it was quite recent.I
didn’t know that Jen knew Ken, and that by extension, she also knew Irene.(Peggy is a good friend of theirs.I did meet her when she lived in Taiwan, but
we didn’t end up in the same circle of friends.)Together with this picture, Jen said that
Irene had invited me to her place while I was in Boston.In truth, I hadn’t really realised that I’d
made much of an impression on her, but I was thrilled that she’d invited me.
Jen drove us to hers.Irene had prepared brunch for us, including eggs, fruit, bread and
cookies.We ate it on the porch under a
beautiful blue sky on a clear summer’s day.As we caught up, we enjoyed a mimosa.This picture, too, is taken from Google Maps; Irene’s unit is the one on
the ground floor.She lives in an area
of Boston called Winthrop, which looks out over Broad Sound and into the
Atlantic Ocean.
Soon it was time to head to Salem.Jen would drive me again.Here I would be staying with Rob and
Christine Madore, whom I know from Taiwan.I met Rob in the early days, and he also knew Peggy and Jen.In fact, he, Jen and one or two others shared
an apartment in downtown Taichung.Their
building had a great swimming pool, and we’d frequently have fun around that
pool.Jen and Rob had not stayed in
touch after leaving Taiwan, and they were seeing each other for the first time
today.When Rob lived in Taiwan, he
moved to Tainan for a while.There he
met Christine.Several years later, they
were married and eventually settled in Salem.
Arriving now, it was a happy reunion.Rob’s parents were there, too, and I’d met
them at Rob’s wedding in Kaohsiung years ago.I met Rob and Christine’s two lovely kids, Alex and Abigail.His parents left and then Rob took Jen and me
on a brief walk through parts of Salem.We stopped for a pint, and then bought some more beverages to bring back
to the house.The four adults sat
outdoors on the deck that Rob built and blethered about old times and the
intervening years.Christine had been a
city counselor, and she astonished us with stories about what that
entailed.What shocked me most was that
public servants have to make their address known, which meant that at least one
nutter stalked her for a spell.
Jen was heading on to New Hampshire (or Vermont) to spend the
weekend with a cousin there.When she
departed, the rest of us headed out for dinner nearby.It was now already approaching bedtime for
the kids, which kind of meant bedtime for me, too, grey as I am.The Madore’s home has three storeys above
ground and a basement.The basement is
Rob’s man-cave, and it was here that I would sleep.There was a sofa bed, and I had a bathroom
all to myself.
On Sunday, I rode the commuter train into Boston.The Madores were committed to the Salem
Family Bike Ride, and didn’t join me.I’d been warned to not expect much from the rail service.The carriages were old, and the
infrastructure dated.Jen had talked
about it.Rob and Christine had talked
about it.A friend I would be meeting
later today talked about it, as did the friends I’d catch up with later in New
York.The commuter train was late.The carriage was old.I’d bought a ticket on the app.One conductor came to check my digital ticket,
and then slipped a paper ticket (not unlike the ones we’d get as kids to go on
rides at the amusement park) into a slot cut into the fabric of the seat in
front of mine.Another conductor came by
later and collected the paper ticket. How antiquated!
I arrived at North Station, from which I wandered about
semi-aimlessly.I had plotted
attractions on Google Maps, but found myself disinterested in rushing to see it
all.I strolled for a little while along
the Freedom Trail.I descended into the
catacombs of the metro.It looked very
old and surprisingly dirty.At length, I
decided to visit at least one of the places I’d planned to see, and so I
descended into the metro once again.The
line I needed came up to the surface and proceeded level with the traffic, not
unlike a European Tram. The driver made some fun announcements.Departing each stop, he spouted, “Welcome
aboard the red comet. I am the master of
transportation.” He then continued his
announcement in the voice of a horse racing commentator.
I alighted at the station closest to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.The woman whose name is given to the museum
was an art collector and philanthropist, and stated in her will that her
collection should be displayed in a museum “for the education and enjoyment of
the public forever.”Arriving there, I
now learned that entrance was staggered through the day, and that the next
available slot was at 12:00.I’d
arranged to meet Christopher Szczerba at 12:30 for lunch in Cambridge, and I
still needed to get there, so I swallowed a bitter pill and skipped this
attraction.It was worth it, though.
Chris worked with me in Taichung for only a year.He had come to Taiwan after finishing his
studies.He’d arrived on a Fulbright
scholarship.The Fulbright Program is an
American cultural exchange program.“Via
the program, competitively-selected American citizens including students,
scholars, teachers, professionals, scientists and artists may receive
scholarships or grants to study, conduct research, teach, or exercise their
talents abroad; and citizens of other countries may qualify to do the same in
the United States.” (Wikipedia, “Fulbright Program”)Chris had been placed at a government school,
and after fulfilling his obligations, he decided to stay another year and came
to my school.He was great at teaching,
and his positive, vivacious personality was effervescent.Not only was he great in the office and
classroom, he also sang, and I attended one of his performances outside a local
pub.Fluent in both English and Italian,
he was also learning Mandarin.He and
his boyfriend also joined me to watch a performance in one of Taichung’s
theatres.If I remember correctly, it
was a choir performance, but I can’t be absolutely sure about that.
Christopher had driven down from New Hampshire to see me.That journey had taken three hours.We started with lunch, which he paid
for.Then we wandered about Cambridge,
heading towards Harvard.I felt drawn to
this place, as if to walk across its rarified campus could make me
intelligent.While the campus tour was
somewhat disappointing – I don’t really know what it was I thought I’d find
there – the conversation was anything but.
Our exchange was lively and lovely.We spoke of his years in Taiwan, his reasons for going there and for
coming home, and about the intervening years.He has been with his current partner – who is an opera singer (!) and
teaches the voice at Clark University in Worcester, Massachusetts – for several
years.As we walked, the weather
changed.It had been hot and humid all
day, since I got on the commuter in Salem.Now, the temperature dropped, the sky turned dark, and soon it was
raining quite heavily.We had to rush
for cover and wait in doorways until it lightened enough to move on.We stopped for a drink, and then it was time
for Chris to head back north and for me to return to Salem.I arrived just in time to have dinner with my
hosts, and then it was time for the kids and the grey to slumber.
On Monday, both Rob and Christine had to work.Christine would do her work remotely at home,
while Rob would drive into Boston.After
the kids had gone off to summer camp, Christine gave me a brief guided tour of
Salem
as she led me to the ticket office to purchase a seat on the
Salem Trolley, and then she walked me to the pick-up point. She then went home and I jumped on the
trolley. The trip lasted an hour or so,
and there was commentary the whole way.
We passed a candy store that our guide claimed was the first in the
US. Ye Olde Pepper Companie, on its
website, declares the same. I was unable
to find independent verification of this, so we’ll just accept that it’s
true. I made a mental note to go back
there to find FUDGE!
We rode out to Winter Island, stopping to stretch our legs at
the tiny harbour.It’s not really an
island, being connected to the mainland by an isthmus that separates Smith Pool
from Juniper Cove.Back in the vehicle,
we passed Waikiki Beach, which, our guide claimed, was the first one to be
named as such in the States.He
continued by explaining that the famous one in Hawaii was named first, but that
the one here was named when Hawaii was still a territory and not yet a
state.Our guide was a little too much
at times, although the information he offered was interesting.Christine later told me that he is an amateur
comedian, which explained his drive to be funny as he spoke.I learned that the Parker Brothers,
manufacturers of games, were from Salem.We passed a house that had been their home.I learned that, in the early Monopoly sets,
the place holders were made of wood, and there were two fewer: the ship and the
top hat (or was that the dog) were added after one of the world wars. (I
researched this while writing and found pretty disparate articles on the topic.
Whether true or not, it was an assertion
that stuck with me. The history of Monopoly
is actually quite interesting and full of intrigue, deceit and, frankly, fraud.)
Afterward, I returned to Christine’s. She would accompany me out again during a
break in her day, this time to the Peabody Essex Museum, where her membership
card would get me free access. Yay! She would get me in and then return to her
duties at home. I also got a separate
ticket to view the Yin Yu Tang Chinese home.
This is a house that was disassembled in China’s Anhui Province, and
transported bit by bit to Salem, where it was reassembled on the museum
premises. What a marvel!
(The only other place I’d viewed such a phenomenon was in Reykjavik,
where historical homes were transported, whole or in pieces, from within the
city to just outside it and reconstructed for the Open Air Museum. Entrance to the house was staggered, as it
was to many of the attractions I’d still enjoy on this trip, so I decided to
get a sandwich and coffee in the museum café while I waited. The meal was tasty, and the house
magnificent!
Tickets allowed only 30 minutes in the house, but returning into
the rest of the museum, I was in for a treat!This place was expansive and the collection truly magnificent.I spent several hours there.
Once I started losing focus, I walked to Ye
Olde Pepper Companie to get sweets.Then
I got some beverages and returned to the Madores.I was soon off again to Seagrass Salem
Dispensary.Weed for recreational use is
legal in Massachusetts and several other states.I stopped using it ages ago, but the
opportunity to partake in a place where it was legal was too much to give
up.I bought gummies.I had one before dinner, and it certainly
affected me, but I was nevertheless conversant.When bedtime came around after the meal, I ate another one.It was pleasant to go down that rabbit hole
again.There were ten gummies in the
pack, so I had eight to carry along with me.I hadn’t initially thought that I might find myself in a place where it
might not be legal, but my host brought it up, so I checked.My planned destinations were all within states that had already legalised weed.
On Tuesday, I was set to depart Salem.The weather had turned completely – it was
somewhat windy, rather cold, and mostly wet.Christine would be working, Alex and Abigail would be going to camp, and
Rob was expected at the office in Boston.I took a ride with him, dropping the kids off before heading south.It had been a really nice visit with them. (The family would be visiting Taiwan in late
August, after I got back, and I’d be seeing them again.Their plans to travel to Taiwan predated my
American plans.)
After a very long drive – traffic into Boston is heavy and slothful
- Rob dropped me at Aloft Hotel, Boston Seaport District, where I’d booked with
Stasher to store my bags for several hours.I’d be hiring a car in the afternoon.Now in the sprinkling precipitation, I started to explore a bit.I made it to the Institute of Contemporary
Art just before it opened and waited on the stairs overlooking the berths of
the seaport.When the museum opened, it
was nice to get indoors.I liked their
offerings, but for the size of the building, there was very little on
display.I was happy to find an installation
on the ground (ahem!.... the first) floor that was by a Capetonian artist.
From there I walked to Congress Street Bridge.Here was located the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum.There are two replica ships, reenactments,
and some exhibits.I’d seen this in
travel guides and photos while planning my trip, and it looked fun.All the stuff I’d seen was photographed on
sunny days with clear blue skies.Today
was not that.I wasn’t sufficiently
moved to spend the money, so I ambled instead in the gift shop, buying some
trinkets to bring for friends, before ultimately heading off again.
Lunch time was approaching, and I came across Falafel King.It was popular, judging from the queue
visible through the window.Each queuing
customer, upon reaching the “assembly line” of men behind the counter, was
treated to a falafel, topped with a generous scoop of hummus, even before
they’d placed their order.I really
liked this flair.The food was
affordable – my lamb-beef schwarma cost only $12.The food was good, though I will admit I’ve
had better.While I ate on site, I
enjoyed the chiseled features of one of the men in the production line.
There was still some time before I had to pick up the car, but I
felt inexplicably defeated, so I retreated to Aloft where my bags were.I got a snack and beverage, and whiled away
the last half hour.Then I got an Uber
to Logan Airport, where Hertz was located.I inputted the exact location of Hertz, but the driver nevertheless
dropped me at a terminal.I knew that
the rental company was located neither in the terminal nor beside it, but I was
confused about how one got there, so I didn’t kick up a fuss, and I was early
so there was time to figure it out.It turned
out it was necessary to get on the free airport shuttle, and the rental car
centre was at the last stop.It all
seemed unnecessarily complicated, but by now, this had become a trend.I think I might say at this point that the US
is a unique place.The norms that make
every other country somewhat predictable to a tourist do not appear to apply
here.Of course, every country offers,
shall we call them, idiosyncrasies that set it apart from others, but here the
differences were pronounced.
Picking up the car involved no fuss at all, and I was soon on my
way.(I got a Nissan Versa, which is
almost identical to my own Nissan Tiida back home, so I was confident from the
get-go.)My destination was Mansfield,
Massachusetts.I’d be checking into the
Red Roof Inn and then going to see tonight’s entertainment.I asked the receptionist if I could walk to
the Xfinity Center, and he confirmed that it was pretty far, like more than an
hour away on foot.He offered me two
options for shuttles, and I was fortunate to take the last seat on one of those
shuttles.
(I decided en route to
Mansfield that I didn’t really care to deal with the traffic and parking
logistics, and that I’d probably also enjoy a beer or two, so even though I had
a car, leaving it at the hotel was likely a better idea.Once the transport was secured, I also
dropped a couple of gummies into my pocket.)
On this occasion, I didn’t read the fine print,
and I did at least one thing wrong: I arrived at the venue with a huge backpack.This was not allowed.Fortunately, there was a tent for bags, and
here one could also get a transparent bag to store the absolute necessities –
money, a raincoat, etc.This cost $10,
but I think at this point I was beginning to comprehend that nothing, nothing
at all, was free in these United States.Before passing through security (I had now begun to expect the
unexpected), I dropped both gummies into my mouth.Though I was still in Massachusetts and weed
was still legal, I thought it better not to tempt fate.I got in and found a place to grab a beer,
which I then carried with me to my section – right at the back, furthest from
the stage, closest to the portable toilets and refreshment counters.
The opening act, before the sun set, was Myles Smith.I really liked him.He was also on stage as I started to feel the
effects of the couple of gummies I’d chugged before security.
My reaction to the gummies was conflicting and twofold.Outwardly,
I was paranoid and opted not to speak to a soul.This apparently made me look somewhat
suspicious, and I noticed at least two men frequently turning around to check
on me.One was there with his wife and a
young child, the other with a wife or girlfriend.At one point I decided to move to a different
section, still in my price category, but I decided the view was not as good,
and returned to where I’d been.The man
who was one of two slowly disappeared into the crowd - I slowly became unaware
of him.The other man who was one of
three, at length, very decidedly moved his family away and down the slope, out
of sight.Finally, I could relax.After this, I became aware, out of the corner
of my eye, of a woman who, like me, was talking to no one, enjoying her
solitude and the music.My stoned mind
decided that she’d found comfort in my presence, and so I opted not to look at
her, and she remained beside me for the entire performance.Inwardly,
I was entirely drawn into the music.I
love Imagine Dragons – their idiom speaks to me fully.I like their message, and their lead singer,
Dan Reynolds, is not only hot as fuck, but also an LGBTQ+ ally.While I was far away from the action, there
were giant screens and of course fantastic amplification, so I went completely
and ecstatically down the rabbit hole.I
was engrossed.
Engrossed though I was, I had decided that I’d exit early.When I felt like the performance was nearing
conclusion (and thankfully by this point, the gummies were no longer deluding
me), I made my way to the exit.This
meant that I didn’t have to wait long for my backpack to be returned to
me.However, I had awoken from my
reverie during the last song, so the masses were out by the time I searched for
my shuttle, and I got a little disoriented.Luckily, there was enough help along the way, and I got to the pickup
point.There, it started to rain, which
had really been threatening the whole night.I had a raincoat, so I was okay.Slightly
to my right was an Asian looking girl, possibly in her twenties or very early
thirties, who was getting soaked.I had
an extra coat in my backpack, but was unable to locate it (I guess I wasn’t yet
totally free of the gummies).Just as
well.I turned and saw other people, not
Asian, also not protected from the rain.Shortly, I found, they were waiting for the same transportation I was,
back to Red Roof, and their awareness of me, as a fellow guest, meant that I’d
likely not get left behind.Glad I
didn’t present as stereotypical male: the woman with Asian looks was very
pretty and far too young for me, even if I was heterosexual.
We waited in the rain for about an hour.Then our driver arrived from behind.He said that the traffic attendants had
unexpectedly instructed him to stop in a different part of the lot, a thing
they have never done before.The Xfinity
Center, it turned out, is a busy venue, with events taking place all the time;
this driver provides his services for many/all of the events.The conversation between him and the
passengers (not including me – I remained mostly silent) centered on this one
topic for the whole trip back to the hotel.I felt that it could have concluded within minutes, but whatever.It seemed to me that a silent ride might have
felt uncomfortable for the occupants of the vehicle, and that the topic was
merely a means to keep the discourse going.
Back at the hotel, I slipped into bed at midnight.I had to be up again at 4:40 and haul ass to
Hyannis in Cape Cod, 70 miles and about 70 minutes away.The early morning weather was no better than
last night’s: it was cold and wet.This
was not welcome for my trip to the islands – I’d wanted to hire a bicycle on
each one to see as much as I could in the 3 hours I’d set aside.Riding a bicycle while wearing a raincoat was
not at all appealing.Never mind.The town of Nantucket on Nantucket Island and
the town of Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard were large enough to enjoy a
stroll.I’d initially looked at
accommodation on the islands, but there was no way I could afford their
ridiculous rates.I got a room in Hyannis
and opted to take a day trip, visiting both islands before returning to the
mainland.
I dropped my suitcase at America’s Best Value Inn &
Suites.The look of this place reminded
me of a goal I’d had when I first started thinking about traveling to the
States – I’d intended to find unique/quirky motels to stay in wherever I
could.I’d completely forgotten about
this goal while making concrete plans for my current trip.Now, as I stood in the large parking lot,
lined on three sides with two floors of rooms, and a swimming pool surrounded
by a fence at the front of the parking lot, I realised I’d accidentally got
what I hadn’t remembered I’d been looking for.Entering the room, the musty odour of age affirmed the fact.
There was no time to dilly-dally.I got back in the car and drove to Cape Cod
Gateway Airport to drop off the rental.It was around 6:50 AM, and there was no one at the rental desks.I wrote down the mileage from the odometer,
the registration plate, and an apology for not filling the tank – I’d honestly
just forgotten, and now I felt there wasn’t enough time to rectify my
negligence – photographed all the papers, and dropped the key with the papers
into the drop box.Then I called an Uber
to bring me to the ferry terminal.At
Hy-Line cruises, I got my three tickets printed, after which I got breakfast
and a hot coffee at The Landing Café the minute they opened their door at
8:00.Departure was at 08:30.
Arriving on Nantucket an hour later, I knew instantly I’d made
the right choice.The buildings were as
beautiful as I‘d seen on the internet, the atmosphere laid back.Decorative gardens and flower pots brightened
the streets.Despite the nippy weather,
the locals were dressed for summer, providing plenty of eye candy.My first stop was at Aunt Leah’s Fudge – go
figure; oh, my figure!Then I was drawn
into the gallery in the Thomas Macy Warehouse.I knew within minutes that I couldn’t afford
art in the States.I did buy something
there – a tiny painting: 10 x 10 cm.
Then I wandered on.I didn’t plan a route, allowing myself to
stumble upon things randomly, though I did eventually follow the map to Brant
Point Lighthouse.This was not terribly
exciting, so I ambled back into the bustle of the historic district.I stopped at Surfside Taco Stand where I had
a Buck Salad (substantial portion, but quite dear) and a latte.The staff seemed to all be freshmen on summer
break.Finally, I wandered through the
specialist stores in the market on Straight Wharf while I waited for my next
ferry to Martha’s Vineyard.
The ferry ride lasted an hour.Disembarking, I felt the same as I had a few hours ago – good
choice!The town was colorful in the way
that brings millions of visitors to Cuba or Valparaiso in Chile (both places I
still need to visit).Like Nantucket,
this island had been established by the super rich.What was different here was a distinct
Jamaican atmosphere.Many people spoke
English with Caribbean accents, and Caribbean food was on offer all over the
show. I decided it was time to try a
Jamaican beef patty, which resembles a British beef pie.It was so tasty that I failed to let it cool
and burnt my palate.(Several weeks
later, I’d burn my palate once more in Taichung when I had my second patty at a
foreign fair, Highseas Cultural Market.)
I strolled up the hill to MVCMA Tabernacle, passing the
Gingerbread Houses en route.The
tabernacle stands beside United Methodist Church of Martha’s Vineyard.I ambled to Tony’s Market, which brought me
through a part of town that was a little less wondrous.Then I walked down Nashawena Avenue, back
towards the seashore, passing this set of garden furniture, which brought me
into Alice’s Wonderland.
Continuing, I
passed by the Corbin Norton House.Across the road, members of the public were enjoying Ocean Park.Again, a large proportion of them seemed to
hail from the Caribbean.I, too, sat for
a bit on a bench overlooking the park and Nantucket Sound beyond.Having barely slept last night, I ran out of
steam in less time than I’d allowed, and I was able to get an earlier ferry
back to Hyannis and my motel.
On Thursday morning, my southbound coach would depart from the
Cape Cod Hospital at 10:00.There was
another point of departure, from the Hyannis Transportation Center at 10:40,
which was actually within walking distance from my motel.I considered simply going there, but worried
that, if I didn’t show up at the planned collection point, my seat might be
given away to a random person who hadn’t bought a ticket.I readied, checked out and got an Uber.Then confusion set in.Neither the woman at the information desk nor
the male guard outside could tell me where Peter Pan coaches departed
from.They’d both seen the coach drive
by, but that was as much as they could offer.I sauntered down one side of the hospital.There I found the tiniest sign on a post
indicating that this was the stop.Just
off the curb, an ambulance was parked.
I
took out my book to entertain myself while I waited.Several first responders came by at
intervals, sometimes entering the ambulance to drop or collect something,
sometimes chattering.No one appeared puzzled
by me standing there with my luggage.I
assumed that since Peter Pan had sold me the ticket, they would, naturally,
come to pick me up here.But, NO!Ten o’clock came and went.No other passenger showed up, and there was
also no hint of an approaching vehicle.The
ambulance had now been joined by another first responder vehicle and the duo left
nowhere for a coach to stop. I began to realise
that I’d not be collected here.What
kind of negligent service is this?!At
10:10, I got another Uber, which brought me to the Hyannis Transportation
Center.I should really have found the
Peter Pan office and kicked up a fuss, but with so many “Karen” videos going
viral on social media, coupled with the fact that I’d still be getting on the
bus, I decided to just drop it.
The first stop was at Providence.There, we were moved from the first, somewhat
rickety coach, to a newer model.This
one would bring us to New York City, stopping en route in New Haven.Arrival in NYC was scheduled for 16:30.This was not my destination, and I’d have to
wait until 18:15 for my connection.I
wasn’t looking forward to this wait.Through
the window, I got my first glimpse of the Big Apple, and I could barely contain
my excitement at my impending return in a few days.As it turned out, NYC roads were more
congested than the ones in Boston, and we arrived at Port Authority Bus
Terminal more than an hour late, drastically shortening my wait.Score!
Departure to Washington DC was delayed.Exiting the bus terminal at 18:30, fog hid the tips of skyscrapers.We
traveled first through New Jersey.Road
tolls had been collected electronically in Massachusetts – I’d agreed to an
optional add-on to cover all tolls when I’d hired the car – but in New Jersey,
the old-style manned toll gates were still in use (as indeed they had been on
at least one of my routes through England last summer).En route, a weather alert was delivered to my
phone: FLASH FLOODS IN THE AREA. STAY HOME UNLESS YOU'RE TOLD TO EVACUATE. At
first, when I heard the notification, I thought the earth was about to start
shaking - they use the exact same sound as alerts in Taiwan!
