Pennsylvania: Part Deux

October 9-10

This was to be a weekend that embraced US culture wholeheartedly.

We’d the largest SUV that the car hire folk could offer.  We had eschewed maps for GPS.  We’d printed t-shirts and baked brownies.  And Gregoire had even promised us some mixtapes.  We were ready for our first roadtrip of the season.

Stop number one:  Rafting at the Delaware Water Gap

At over 20 degress, the weather was unseasonally hot – perfect for navigating the Delaware ‘rapids’.   Gregoire deserves a special mention for ‘doeeng double ze paddleeng of everyone else’.  Kudos to Declan and Guillaume for managing to smoke and paddle at the same time.  Who said that men can’t multitask?

Stop number two:  Lancaster

Lancaster must surely be one of the worst towns I’ve had the pleasure of visiting.  Great banter to be sure, but a truly awful place.  We stayed in a comedy hotel which would have made Fawlty Towers look like a veritable 5 star, we’d a poor meal in a local ‘gastro’ pub, and a number of local watering holes refused to let us in without seeing our visas.  Thankfully, after about an hour of wandering, we found a dodgy looking joint that wasn’t so suspicious of foreigners.

Stope number three:  Amish Country

With Declan and Gregoire still sleeping off their previous night’s fun, we ventured out to Dutch Country.  Schoolboy error: it was Sunday – not much was open.  But we took a tour on a horse and cart and heard a bit more about Amish life.  Indeed, our guide’s own story was fascinating.  Brought up in the Amish community, he had left school – as was compulsory – to do farm work at the age of 12.  However, at the age of 16 he had enjoyed the rumspringa period in which Amish rules may be broken: he’d gotten a piercing, enjoyed technology and lived a party lifestyle.  He now admits that he took things too far at times, but he still decided not to join the Amish again as an adult.  Instead, he obtained his High School Diploma and is now training to become a vet.  He will be the first person in his family to graduate from University in over 300 years.  However, his family would rather that he gave it up and return to run the farm.

The Amish don’t drive cars.  For them, family is key.  And motorised transport has the potential to take you far away from it.  Our driver explained that the concern is more than geographic: ‘the worry is that you’ll travel so far away from home that you can’t find your way back, and that you end up losing a bit of yourself along the way’ ….’And there’s certainly some truth in that’ he mused.  Perhaps.  But there is also truth in the idea – so beautifully expressed by du Bellay – that through leaving home we can fully appreciate where we are from and thus who we really are.

In any event, we’d great fun over family-style food before hitting the road for our next stop.

'Family style' dinner included colouring in sheets for the kids..

Stop number four: Gettysburg

Any good legal education should appreciate historical context.  So this merry band of lawyers (and one actuary) decided to visit Gettysburg.

As our SUV entered the town, we passed civil-war reenacters dressed up to the nines, and Guillaume, a military geek, played Lincoln’s speech to set the scene.

As we drove around the park, Nico was in the driving seat.  Needless to say, hilarity ensued.  However, the funny side may have been lost by those in the 20 car tailback he caused.

My overriding memory is the extreme peace that has settled over the landscape.  The civil war was severe – over 200,000 killed in combat – and it’s now hard to imagine such fighting occurring in that place.  Here’s to Somalia having the same ambiance someday soon.

Stop number five:  Harrisburg

Harrisburg = ghost town.  Pennsylvania’s capitial was unimpressive.  We’d a bad meal in a poor restaurant (déjà vu anyone?) and then we headed for home.

A fantastic weekend.  It all went to prove that one should ‘never say no to a roadtrip’.

‘Family style’ dinner included colouring in sheets for the kids..

New York. Again.

I’ve been up and down to NYC a few times, but I thought I’d quickly highlight this particular (mis)adventure.

The wonderful, legendary, ever-running Gus was in town.  He was stopping off on his way back to the UK from LA.

Dan, ever the polymath, was directing a play off-Broadway.

And I’d been given a 24-hour exam.  The basic idea of which is that you have a one day window to upload an answer to an essay question.  This was my first one.  “How hard could it be?” I mocked.  Such naïveté.

Given that I’d a full twenty four hours to complete this thing, my first mistake, undoubtedly, was to start work on it with only seven to spare.

My second was to think that I could finish it off on the two-hour coach ride to NYC.  Or in Starbucks at 7th Ave and 28^th St.  Or in the Lobby Bar of  the 59E59 Theatre.

Well, all that wouldn’t actually have mattered if the bloody theatre had had wifi.  It didn’t.  So, as the bell was ringing to call us to our seats, off I sprinted through the honking mid-town traffic to find a signal on which to latch.  Thank you Borders®© on Park Avenue.  My exam essay was uploaded on time.  I was on top of my game.

Or not.

The theatre door had closed and they weren’t letting me in.

Thanks to Alice the barmaid, I was able to regain a sense of perspective over a G&T on-the-house.  She’s a darling, and they’re got live jazz on a Thursday – you should visit.

With my track record, no one was much surprised that I’d missed the performance.  But I had my ticket; I’d come back another night during the run.

After demolishing a bizarre fruit bouquet (epic fail on the part of the actress who left it behind) we headed out for japes at Carnegies – an infamous local deli.  I was dared to drink a new york cream soda by the waiter.  I did it.

Gus ate half a cow.

We discussed the difference between gherkins, cucumbers and pickles.  The kitchen leaked bleach.  They had a huge gherkin and lots of photos of famous people. 

Someday Dan, Gus and Elizabeth will be up there too.

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Florida

State number 6: October 1-4

On October the first it was raining in Philadelphia.  But that didn’t matter.  For after my 9 o’clock Federal Courts class, I was heading to the airport.  My plane was full of Hawaiian prints, shell suits and purple rinses.  My folks had been taking some sun in Florida and I was to join them.

My plane stopped off in Charlotte, North Carolina.  My enthusiasm for good airports is well-known.  This one had a wine bar to showcase local produce, rocking chairs scattered around the halls, and a bakery that kept us all high on cinnamon smells.

As for my time in St. Ewalds Circle, Sarasota, well, there’s not much to report.  It’s a great place to be sure, we just didn’t do that much.  The hotel had a stunning view and a great breakfast.  We beached and we swam.  I read Geuss, Von Bogandy and some chick-lit.  Shoals of fish came right up to the shore, we watched the dolphins playing in the water, and I got dive-bombed by pelicans as I floated on my back.  The only other thing to shatter my peace was the loud conversation of two neighbouring sunbathers.  (Their views on the Healthcare Bill, Obama’s golfing habits and ‘Dancing with the stars’ were most enlightening.)  Anyway, the problem was soon resolved by my moving quickly, and obviously, to relocate a few metres down the beach.

On Sunday we attended a local Church.  The announcement sheet provided excellent pre-match entertainment.  I was particularly struck by the ‘Coffee and Corinthians’ discussion that takes place every Tuesday.  Count me in next term if it’s ‘Merlot and Matthew’.  Or, perhaps ‘Rum and Revelation’?  (To be honest, such an approach might even aid comprehension of that particular book…)

People take such care to craft their coffees to their own tastes and mood, but are willing to sip them in dull, boring buildings.  Sigh.  Such is the state of the world we live in.  Thankfully this church building wasn’t your standard stone effort.  It was pretty cool – a proper treehouse up amongst the pines.

Amongst other great meals, I should note the hilarious night we had at an Irish Pub.  Daddy’s salad came with shamrock-shaped feta.  Fusion cuisine?  Perhaps not.

I was sad to say goodbye to Mummy and Daddy at the airport – we’d had a good time for the two weeks they’d been around.  But I took the train back to Philly where I met my friends to start planning our next adventure.

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Delaware

State number five:  11-12 September

Before this weekend I knew only two things about the State of Delaware.

(1)  It has ‘modern and flexible‘ corporate laws.

(2)  It inspired and stars in the wonderful Perry Como song.  [Do follow the link and give it a listen.  I defy you not to find yourself singing it for the rest of the day.]

However, when a classmate found out that I’d yet to tick Delaware off my list, how could I refuse the offer of a trip the next day?  And so it was that we left bright and early to visit some friends at their beach house in Lewes.

Our two-hour journey was through uninspiring countryside; the only noteworthy place we passed was Dover Air Force Base.

Dover is the base to which fallen US military personnel are returned, both in wartime and in peace.  President Obama has made significant changes to the way in which these sad events are handled.

Under previous administrations, family members could not watch the transfer and the media was banned from reporting the event.  In the UK we have seen the important roles that the general public and the media can (and should?) play in honouring those who die in service.  Kant thought that a good way to promote peace was to ensure that citizens and nations both know and feel the real cost of war.  Whether he meant the cost in fiscal terms or not, an important principle still applies.

And so we may consider it a Good Thing that the the Obama administration has sought to involve the families of the fallen in their return.  They are given the requisite funds to go to Dover to meet the aircraft, there is a designated centre in which they can stay when they are there, and, with their permission, the media may give their stories the attention they deserve.

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That afternoon we’d a great time on the beach.  The sea was a super temperature and I enjoyed my swim.  We found enormous dead jellyfish, built sandcastles, and I got wonderfully sunburnt.  (You can take the girl out of Ireland…)

Delaware, I discovered, equals crabs.  The boys brought back a bushel, and everyone got to work with their wooden hammers.  And even though I stuck to the hummous, I also received a lesson.  How many veggies do you know who can negotiate a crab’s innards?  Bear Grylls would be proud.

One of our fellow guests owns a tequila factory.  We were treated to the best Margaritas I’ve ever tasted.  And some incredible dancing salt.

Thanks Delaware.

Connecticut

August 21-22: state number 3

West Hartford has been named one of the top ten best cities in the USA for the next decade.  Always ahead of the bandwagon (most of you will be aware that due to my progressive fashion choices Anna regularly phones me for trend advice) I thought I’d pop up for the weekend.

Indeed, the urban vampire look I’ve been working for a couple of weeks now is clearly right on the button.  OzFest was also taking place that weekend, and thankfully by the time I convinced the friendly bikers at the airport that no, I wasn’t going to the festival and that I most certainly did not want a lift on ‘Brenda’, my excellent friend and gracious host had arrived to pick me up.

I’ve known the very lovely ‘American Jess’ since first year at Pembroke when she came across on exchange.  She was paired up with JSS for the Freshers’ week three-legged pub crawl and her fate was sealed.

Back then she was an arc and anth-er.  (Opposable thumbs anyone?)  However, after meeting me Jess decided that law was the only way to go.  She’s now studying at UConn.  The geek that I am, we popped in for a nosey.

West Hartford appears to be a typical New England town.  White wooden clad houses? Check.  Porch verandas? Check.  Quaint town hall, churches and shops? Check, check and check.  Sadly, the only blot on its copy sheet was the infestation of cars in the main street.  Pedestrianise and cobble please!  Apart from that, it seemed just perfect.

Especially because of the Quaker Diner.  We lunched at this wonderful railway car sized 24-hr greasy spoon that’s been on the go for at least 70 years.  My family will testify that I know my omelettes, and boy did I get a good one.

Unlike its counterpart in Pennsylvania, the Connecticut legislature has a slighly more liberal attitude to wine.  (In Philadelphia wine may only be bought from state liquor stores, of which there are only two in the city centre.  The selection isn’t great, they close at nine, and I feel vaguely sleazy when I go in.  So I can buy a gun in K-Mart but not a bottle of Sauvy B?  Explain that Dworkin. )  Indeed, it wouldn’t normally be noteworthy to have gone into a wine shop and to have been given good advice about what would accompany pizza well, but given my experience in Philly I was pretty pleased.

We were picking up some red as Aaron was top cheffing it up to produce some hectic good pizza.  We’d a great night in, sponsored by Whole Foods and their DIY party hats.

The good food with good friends theme continued the next morning when we hit Mo’s Midtown Restaurant which has won silly amounts of awards for its breakfasts.  I had its blueberry pancakes and knew why.

Then things turned pretty dark and stormy.  This gave Jess and I an excuse to put touristing to one side for a weekend and simply to catch up on three years’ banter.  Fear and loathing in Las Vegas?  Give me pottering and good chat in Connecticut any day.  No wonder Candace Bushnell has a place here.

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Philadelphia Art Museum

‘Orientation’ included a class trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  Was this to introduce to us aspects of American life?  Or to an aspect of its legal system?  It wasn’t made clear.

In any event, the permanent collection was impressive.  Personal favourites included some works by Piet Mondrian and Cy Twombly’s Fifty Days at Iliam.

I also spent a wonderful hour or so in the Late Renoir exhibition.   There are many who dislike this period of Renoir’s work – and indeed, this particular show – but I have to say that I emerged all the better for seeing it.  (And in art, surely that’s half the point?)

First of all, innovative or no, Renoir’s ability to capture the light that blesses the south of France cannot be denied.  His paintings of Cagnes and the surrounding area evoked memories of many happy holidays spent there.  Second, I’m a huge Matisse fan, so loved seeing how his work was influenced by that of Renoir.  Third, I was inspired by Renoir’s dedication to his craft.  The final painting displayed was The Bathers.  For me, its importance stems not from the actual painting, but from the circumstances in which it came to be.  It was completed in 1919,  at which point Renoir’s hands were knotted with rheumatoid arthritis.  Nevertheless, he continued to paint this large work until he felt it complete.  Even though his illness made the task nearly impossible, he carried on, saying “the pain will fade, but the beauty remains”.  Footage of Renoir in action revealed the joy which transported him as he worked.  A suggestion to the critics: lambast the paintings themselves if you want, but do not forget the quite remarkable dedication of a man who loved his craft.

Indeed, as we embark on another challenging year of study, perhaps this part of the orientation schedule was to underline the importance of commitment to lasting and worthwhile outcomes.  “The pain will fade, but the beauty remains.”   [Vom.  Et exeunt.]

New Jersey

State number 3:  14th August

It was Saturday.  And after a hard week’s toil we were off to Atlantic City, NJ.  (Cue: “Atlantic city baby!”)

Trundling through New Jersey’s sophisticated hamlets, our appetites were truly whetted for the coastal treat that was to come.

I have never been to Rome.  And now I have seen Ceasar’s Palace, the Trocadero and Trump Tower, I certainly have no need to go.  Quelle culture! Quelle majesté!  Vive la cité atlantique!

Amidst such glamourous surrounds, can you imagine our surprise when our forty-strong group was taken hostage by a band of restaurant racketeers.  Bundled into the back of a van, we were driven for what seemed like hours out into the wilds of AC.  The Frenchies resisted from the beginning and were not placated by the rations offered during our incarceration.  Thankfully, our release was assured after some extreme diplomatic efforts from both sides of the Atlantic.  Some say we’ll look back on it and laugh.

Empowered by our new found freedom, we enjoyed a stroll along the boardwalk, taking in the sights and sounds of this quite incredible place.  Tarot! Tattoos! Rod Stewart!

Since our arrival two weeks ago, the levels of humidity in the ‘delphic Ghetto have been of tropic intensity.  Accordingly, the seaside breeze was a welcome relief.  Cora joined the boys for a swim, while I, and others, had to content ourselves with a paddle.

Bleary-eyed, the gamblers returned (shirtless and watchless), and we ambled into Trump’s beach bar.  Ranked within the top 21 sexiest beach bars in the world by the Travel Channel, we thought we’d struck gold.  Sadly, on the day we attended Donald’s usual clientele appeared to have migrated to the other 20…

All in all, a great day.  Atlantic City – the perfectly ironic beachside escape.

Indeed, it was only made better by banter over a homeless platter in an Irish Pub back in Philly (they’re impossible to escape here) where the bar man used to work in Declan’s Dad’s pub in Galway.  True Story.

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[With thanks to Gabby and Abhinmanyu for letting me thieve some of their great pictures from FB.]

New York

7 – 8 August:  state #2

My campaign got off to a great start this weekend with a visit to the city that never sleeps.  And, in the interests of adventure and of thrift, I eschewed the Amtrak and hopped on one of the infamous Chinatown Buses.  The lovely Emma (de Bruges) had finished her bar exam and had a day or two free for japes.

Saturday afternoon comprised of brunch in hells kitchen, followed by an extended dander through a flea market, down the High Line and around the meatpacking district and Chelsea.  Despite our best endeavours, the celebrity spot index was low.

Next stop, Brooklyn.  Woven picnic baskets in hand, we joined some friendly locals for a free concert in Prospect Park.  Sitting ‘neath dappled trees, we enjoyed libations and provisions; the sun set and the celeb spot index rose.  We danced the night away to the incredible Sharon Jones and her Dap Kings.  On the ‘five minute’ journey home we were educated about the difference between Iraq and Iran.

On Sunday morning we’d a great brunch in the Upper West Side.  Vegan, gluten-free pancakes (pesto, facon, mushrooms!), Quinoa porridge with spiced fruit, the best soy shakes we’ve ever had and 15th century Italian geo-political conversation.  What more could two girls ask for?

After dropping Emma off at the train to JFK I enjoyed a leisurely walk down through the Island back to Chinatown and my bus home.

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Pennsylvania

3 August:  state #1

Today I landed in the US.  I was greeted by an immigration official who didn’t smile and stopped by a customs officer who claimed I had  “suspicious eyes”.  Undeterred, I soldiered on.

The drive from the airport was not a pretty one.  Indeed, the factories on either side transported me to the heady days of my organic chemistry youth.  We approached the city from the west (my subconscious providing a wonderful soundtrack) and I soon arrived at my home for the next year – Philadelphia.

After a quick shower (and a drama involving a misplaced suitcase and laptop, payphones, an operator who couldn’t understand my accent,the US Army and the lovely folk at the Sheraton) I left to meet an acquaintance at a famous local haunt, The White Dog.  After the day’s 32 degree heat, the evening was balmy.  I enjoyed a stroll through the campus, passing its hibernating buildings and the statue of its founder, Benjamin Franklin.

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The gauntlet

As with most great ideas, this one came from Betty.  During my year-long stint in the USA I should visit every one of its fifty states.

Confident in the originality of the task, visions of book deals and travel shows danced in our heads.  These were soon interrupted by the news that Stephen Fry had beaten us to it.  And in a black cab no less.

No matter, the challenge still remains.  One year.  Fifty states.

Bring it.