USA Page 3
Manhattan
Monday 12 September 2000
There was no way we could top our adventures in New York so we deliberately went for a low-key start to the week. Hugo had been sniffing and spluttering over the last few days and he had finally succeeded in passing it on to me. In our return from dropping Perce off, we bumped into one of his neighbours, Austin, who, although only 20 years old, was already the proud owner of a Mitsubishi Eclipse and a Camaro SS, which he was happy to explain was the fastest model you could buy. Judging by the sound of the V8, which he happily revved for us, I would have to agree. Austin was, of course, a car salesman and had come from the Mid-West to seek his fortune. Judging by his fleet he wasn’t doing too badly, but he complained vociferously about the high cost of living in Connecticut, particularly house prices. Far be it from us to suggest that he could save a bit of money if he ran a Corolla instead of a Camaro, but clearly for him, to be a success you need to convey the right image, and in this case only a Camaro will do.
As we drove around Connecticut the Malibu's radio was usually tuned to Kiss 95.7, the home of Ross and Courtney's breakfast show and a reasonable selection of music. Of course, like most of the American media, it was stuffed with advertising, and when we weren't being told to buy Dodge trucks (and not "Japanese wuss-mobiles") or drugs to improve our sexual performance (at 9am!) we were urged to shop at the West Farms Mall to improve our social lives and general happiness. Eventually we had to bow to this pressure and set off to find it. The mall wasn't quite as modern and bright as we had been led to expect, and was looking a bit tired and drab in places. Nevertheless it kept us busy for an hour or so and they sold good bagels.
Close by we found two big bookshops. The Barnes and Noble was large but the Borders across the road was enormous - Ikea size. Obviously, their selections were impressive, and some of their customers appeared to be living in the shop. Borders' history corner, for example, had several armchairs and thousands of books. Four gentlemen had taken up residence here and were slowly reading their way through the collection. No attempt was made to move them on or even make them purchase anything. How do shops like this make any money? It didn’t make much sense, but at least Hugo helped to boost Barnes' profits by buying a large chunk of their fantasy section.
Meanwhile I picked my way through the local books and came across a few parks near Middletown that our own guides had failed to spot. We decided to explore the Wadsworth Falls park in the hour or so we had left before our appointment with Perce, and walked into the woods to see the waterfall. Unfortunately, it was more like a trickle after the recent dry spell but pleasant none the less. Hugo meanwhile expanded on his theory that we walked in these woods for long enough we might bump into a grizzly bear or something from his fantasy books. Happily the most dangerous thing we came across was a frog.
Perce had somehow struggled through the day after the excitement of the weekend, and took us out to a bar on the Connecticut River, where we watched the university rowing crew learning how to stay afloat. The river was at least 20 times the width of the Avon, where I learned to row, and they had a 30 mile stretch right out to the Atlantic. Next time I come to Middletown, I'll bring a sculling boat.
Tuesday 13 September 2000
The Middletown boat club inspired Hugo and I to go on a nautical adventure, and we followed the Connecticut River down to its mouth at Old Saybrook and then drove west to Mystic, probably the most famous tourist town in Connecticut. It had been founded in the 17th Century and became one of the most important shipbuilding centres on the East Coast. Most of the buildings were still made of wood, and it was impossible to guess their age, as they had regularly been given fresh coats of paint over the years. The Main Street, like Greenwich, had survived the competition from out of town supermarkets and malls, benefiting from a steady stream of tourists happy to spend money in the upmarket shops. Hugo and I were particularly interested in the street, however, because it was home of the Mystic Pizza Parlour, made famous by a Julia Roberts film of the same name in the late eighties. The restaurant was happy to cash in on this fame, with photos of the cast and crew everywhere, but hadn't been tempted to fleece the customers with ridiculous prices. Of course, only tourists would actually eat pizza there, so Hugo had a hamburger, and I checked out the clam chowder, my first in New England.
Our other reason for coming to Mystic was to visit its seaport, a recreation of its 19th Century heyday with original buildings and ships brought together to create a living museum. We learned how the clippers were built, how to tie ropes and what life was like on board a whaling ship (cramped and smelly). The two hours left before closing time disappeared very quickly, but happily our ticket allowed us to come back the next day and finish off the things we had yet to see.
Having met Perce, we turned the car round and headed back down the river, taking a particularly narrow road into the Connecticut woods, whose obscurity was summed up when we nearly ran over a flock of turkeys. We eventually found our way back onto more familiar territory and pulled up in Madison, another smart coastal town whose residents weren't short of a penny or two. Perce showed us the local bookshop, which also doubled up as a restaurant and meeting place. I popped my head into the travel section to find a group of Madison ladies in full swing about the deficiencies of their husbands. I decided to look at history books instead. For once Hugo did not buy a book but Perce found an amusing satire of wedding etiquette, which is now in the hands of Rich and Alex.
Further down the coast road, which was full of car lots, motels and diners hoping to attract holidaying New Yorkers and Bostonians, we pulled into Marty's seafood restaurant in Old Saybrook which specialised in lobster rolls, the definitive New England cuisine. The lobster was excellent, but the roll didn't really match up, being better suited to a Stop and Shop hot dog. I will bring my own next time. Hugo, who hated seafood, had a rather limited choice on the menu, but could always be cheered up with a glass of root beer.
Kenworths, Mystic, CT
Wednesday 14 September 2000
We had some unfinished business in Mystic, but first we decided to tick off another state from our list - Rhode Island. The smallest state in the USA is well known for its beaches, so we hopped across the border to check a few out. Misquamicut State Beach is said to get extremely busy in the holiday season, but we found it deserted. It was as if a hurricane was on its way and nobody had told us. The sun was shining but the place still had a certain bleakness about it. The clean up for the next season had yet to begin so there was trash everywhere and many of the beach cafés and bars looked in need of a coat of paint. Those that were still open got most of their business from old men happy to drink and watch the seagulls all day long. Even so, it was great to have the Atlantic Ocean to ourselves, watching the waves break on the sand.
Our stay in Rhode Island was brief, and we drove along the pretty coast road back to Mystic. The highlight of our second visit to the seaport was a trip to the planetarium, where a man who had clearly been doing his job for forty years still seemed excited about teaching people the names of constellations. We also learned how to use a sextant, an essential tool for the 18th Century seaman, and were ready to navigate across the ocean, as long as it wasn't a cloudy night. Once again, the time slipped by quickly as we wandered through maritime exhibitions on every subject. The newest display made the strong point that the majority of American immigrants had arrived by boat, illustrating this with a raft that had crossed to Florida from Cuba.
On our way back to Perce we stopped off at Clinton Crossing for half an hour of retail frenzy, picking up a few Gap tops and Clinique jars to please the gang at home. Somehow we managed to get back to Middletown with seconds to spare before Perce arrived and we considered our options for the night's entertainment. We considered going to a drive in movie, but they were having a horror night and the Malibu wasn't really a suitable place for that sort of thing. We went to the cinema on the Berlin turnpike, but that could only offer Pokemon and other rubbish. Instead, after a stop at yet another mega-bookshop, we went to the "Olympia Diner" - the classic long, thin building, made from polished metal. It even had a neon sign and a 50s pick up parked out at the front. Inside we were taken to a booth that had its own jukebox with a very eclectic selection (we settled for Gina G). Perce had had a bad experience with a Greek salad on a previous visit, so advised us to stick to American food… The hamburgers were great and, of course, enormous. Hugo wondered he wasn't able to finish his and we pointed out that his three milkshakes during the meal might have had something to do with it.
On the way home we dropped in on Stop and Shop and I was given the worrying news from the resident heart monitor machine that I had no blood pressure whatsoever. Probably something to do with my long arms, I hope.
Thursday 15 September 2000
Still alive the next morning, despite last night's news, we decided to go for another Boston adventure. Three hours or so after dropping Perce off we emerged into the sunshine of Harvard Square. As we were across the river from Boston Common, we were now in the city of Cambridge, home not only to Harvard but also to the Massachusetts of Institute of Technology, better known of course as MIT.
We walked past university bookshops and offices to Cambridge Common, where several cannons marked the spot where George Washington had camped with his troops during the War of Independence. Occasionally the area had seen fierce fighting as the British sought to control the city, and there are bullet holes in the parish church wall as witnesses to this. Crossing the common we entered the Harvard Yard, the main university campus, which was in the middle of Freshers Week. The green was full of students giving out balloons, waving clipboards and accosting strangers. We managed to run the gauntlet of all this and took a few photographs of the imposing buildings, their architecture definitely influenced from another Cambridge University…
Back in Harvard Square we took lunch and wondered whether we had missed out by choosing Southampton over the Ivy League. Certainly few people travel thousands of miles to take photographs of the Southampton Engineering Department or 53 Portswood Road.
Having dined on Foccaccia and veggie wraps, we repositioned to Boston Common, where Hugo was determined to complete his crushed historic penny set and the information centre. 78 cents later, we walked out of the Common onto Beacon Hill, one of the city's most historic and affluent areas. Here some of Boston's most distinguished residents built their homes along narrow, quiet, shady streets. This was also the centre of the abolitionist movement where Americans, both black and white, gathered together to demand an end to slavery. Many tourists come to follow a trail that links the most important abolitionists lived and worked, while others come to see where "Ally McBeal" is filmed. I also wanted to see Acorn Street, one of the narrowest streets in the city, whose original, very uneven, cobbles have been preserved. At both ends are signs warning drivers that they travel down it at their own risk, and even pedestrians might have some trouble staying balanced all the way down.
We walked back through the western side of the common, where you hire swan-shaped pedalos to bob around on the pond. At least the boaters didn't have to worry about the ducks which were busy scoring lunch of anyone stupid another to bring a sandwich to the park benches. We then popped into FAO Schwarz, Boston's answer to Hamleys, where Hugo bought a bear for his new niece and I marvelled at the giant, foot operated keyboards, last used by Tom Hanks in "Big". After that we jumped on a very busy T Train and began the journey back to Middletown.
Concerned that we were running out of time, our nightly tour with Perce covered a lot of ground, including a peek inside the church, a visit to the model railway shop and a browse in the music store, where customers ran the risk of the store clerk's obvious disapproval if they tried to purchase an untrendy record.
Whilst on our second visit to the First and Last we decided that, having seen Harvard by day, we should check out Yale at night and jumped in the Malibu to see what New Haven had to offer. University night life suffers badly from the under age drinking laws, so the majority of students consume alcohol in private or in their fraternity houses. There were a few bars around but most were very quiet on a Thursday night, except for one which had got a band in for the night. In the end we found a fairly busy Irish (ish) bar where I discovered that, even though I was off alcohol as the designated driver, I had left my passport in the car and wouldn't be allowed in without it. Ten minutes later I rejoined my companions where we decided that we were glad we had gone to Southampton after all.
Friday 16 September 2000
We were woken by spooky noises coming from the fridge. This was emanating from a buzzer which had come free with a special Halloween pack of Oreos purchased the day before. Not only did this breakfast cereal come with ghosts and ghoulies on the packet, but the Oreos had been speckled with what looked like orange mould to celebrate the festive season. Hugo wasn't too impressed by this racket and returned to his slumbers, meaning that I had to take Perce to work without the fellow. I tried to console myself my coming home via WalMart, but it didn't seem right without him.
We spent an enjoyable inactive morning e-mailing and reading, visited occasionally by the apartment block's resident cats who thought they might score some Oreos, Ring Dings or similar chocolatey snacks if they hung around for long enough on the porch.
Eventually I went for a run to see what else I could discover in the neighbourhood. The pathway in the woods extended a little further and came out on the main road, close to the junction with the highway. I then had to risk life and limb battling against the traffic as pavements were in short supply. The exception to this was the pathway outside Perce's complex which was actually advertised as a leisure facility. Every evening there was a steady flow of joggers and power walkers parading up and down, and even in the middle of the day I met a few serious looking runner who probably drove in from miles around to do laps of the pavement. I followed it as far as I could in each direction, ending up at one end at the fire station and at the other at a frightening office complex that apparently sold life insurance. As I retraced my steps I pulled off in a quiet and rather damp park where several middle aged men sat in their cars smoking, reading or staring into space. One man wished me a good afternoon and advised me not to go much further into the woods as it was full of mosquitoes and told me to "take care now". Soon after I realised why - signs at the next junction pointed to the Middletown Juvenile Correctional Facility, and these guys were all prison workers taking a lunch break. Running around its back yard would not be the wisest thing to do.
The rest of the afternoon quickly disappeared, as we wrote postcards and read about the opening ceremony of the Olympics. When we picked up Perce we were introduced to his Russian colleague, Sasha. The lads usually did something together on a Friday night so we went to another Middletown pub, popular with the policemen, firemen and prison warders who had their own blue, red and black beer mugs hung up behind the bar. Over a plate of nachos and a beer or two we decided what to do with the evening. As it would be the last for Hugo an me in the Usa it would have to be something special, something distinctly American. How about a visit to a casino on an Indian reservation?
The Foxwoods casino was opened eight years ago by the Mashahtucket Pequot tribe, and has run 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, ever since, making over a billion dollars a year. Because gambling is banned in the rest of Connecticut and the surrounding states, the casino draws punters from across New England, New York and beyond, despite being barred from advertising its presence. Even the road signs are not allowed to mention the word "casino". Nevertheless, the enormous car park was full and there was a stream of buses dropping off tour groups ready to gamble all night.
Perce and Sasha were our experts here and advised us to pace ourselves and leave the gambling till later. Inside the enormous building were restaurants, shops, a theatre and even a 3D cinema. On the bill was "Escape from Dino Island" so we donned our 3D specs, strapped ourselves in and were flung about for 10 minutes whilst the dinosaurs ran riot around us. It was very exciting, but too short.
We ate in the "international buffet" where we could take whatever we wanted as often as we liked. The place felt like Fleet Services, but did have to deal with a vast number of customers every hour. The buffet also had a laser light show dedicated to the nobility of the American Indian (complete with rain and thunder), which I have never seen on the M3.
Time to go gambling. When we stepped onto one of the floors we began to get a sense of the scale of the operation. Hundreds of tables were laid out, each with a croupier, several punters and someone from management hovering in the background. There was a variety of different games available – many different versions of poker, all being taken very seriously. The slot machines took things to the extreme. There were thousands of them in each room, manned by people totally engrossed in the spinning barrels and digital displays. Handle pulling is optional these days, and most simply pushed buttons again and again as if they were taking part in a psychiatric test. The noise! Clearly a lot of research has been made into what sounds these machines should emit and the result was a hypnotic hum, the noise made when you rub the top of a wineglass with your finger. I suppose this was supposed to dull the senses of the punters so that they would spend all their money without really noticing that it had gone. This is pretty much what happened to me. I exchanged my ten dollar bill for a cup full of quarters, and fed them into the machines. I did win three dollars back, and put them into another cup to stop me spending them. Not the best of long term strategies, but it at least it meant that I could walk away having won something.
Why do people gamble with so much money? I guess it is all relative to your income. If a millionaire loses $1000 at blackjack it is the equivalent of me losing 10p down the back of the sofa. What I found harder to understand were those, particularly the elderly, who blew all their money on the slots. Not only is the game dull and repetitive, but they didn’t even look happy when they won the jackpot! These people all come out of their free will, and Foxwoods spends much of the profits on educational trusts for the tribe, but I still went away at the end of the night feeling unsettled by the experience, and very tired indeed.
Saturday 17 September 2000
It was the last day of the holiday, and it began slowly as we recovered from the excitement of the night before. The most exercise I could manage was a jog to the nearest post box. Hugo spent the next hour in deep thought, working out how to ship his 17 books home without going over the baggage limit. In the end he finished up with a very dense piece of hand luggage and had to hope that the straps would hold out. An hour before we had to go we went for a farewell walk in the woods behind the apartment, so Perce could learn how to reach the meadow and the river, and avoid the man in the tent. It will be interesting to see what the woods will look like when the leaves turn and the snow begins to fall – I’m sure Perce will keep me posted.
After a few final photos, in which Hugo chewed bubblegum throughout (the man had clearly gone native) we got on board the Malibu and headed for the highway. The weather was much kinder than it had been two weeks ago. The last time we had crossed the Whitestone Bridge we had narrowly avoided a lightning bolt, but this time round we got a fantastic view of the Manhattan skyline, from one end of the island to the other.
Soon after, we arrived at JFK and said our farewells to Perce, a perfect host for the last fortnight, who had put up with two oafs cluttering up his sitting room and stealing his car. It had been a fantastic trip, and now we had to return to Britain and its fuel crises and tiny supermarkets. On the flight home, Hugo and I began to plan our next adventure…
Perce and Hugo, Middletown Meadow, CT
