Billboards abound along the route from Kentucky through Missouri in a profusion I haven't seen since traveling through the South in my youth. Offering spectacular caves, motels, nuts & candy, Indian blankets and pottery, and redemption, they appear at regular intervals, usually counting down the miles until you arrive, with a big billboard telling drivers where to exit and one following the exit, telling them to turn around! Stuckey's, a store I used to stop at in the late 50s going south, began to appear, advertising food, candy, souvenirs, and the like. I told Michael I had to stop for nostalgia's sake, but it ended up being just once because the Stuckey's of the 21st century was a different experience: gas pumps outside, a few tacky souvenirs, auto parts, and a small grill inside were its main features.
Its relative, the truck stop, figures large in those parts, giant convenience stores with huge parking areas, gas pumps, restrooms, hot and cold fast food, soda and coffee machines, t-shirts, local memorabilia, and....showers! One spot advertised six showers that one could reserve, and when we were there, an announcement told of the availability of one that was free. Eighteen wheelers abound on this route, which offers few other pit stops or chain restaurants, and the truckers travel long distances, sometimes with dogs, spouses, and occasionally with children. My favorite--viewed only from the highway--was the Jesus-is-Lord-Truck Stop. A few more exits along the way, we saw an 18-wheeler with the same name emblazoned on its side.
An increasing emphasis on religion, particularly Christian religion, was apparent everywhere. My favorite billboard on that topic read "Eternal Rest--Exit Now!" Other billboards would sport Bible quotations and warnings about sinful behavior and its consequences, and souvenirs with Christian themes and icons were offered in the truck stops. Another shift from what we see in the East was the prevalence of ads related to farm animals, fireworks, and guns. Mention of stockyards, horses and cattle for sale, and the Happy Horse Motel were a few of my favorites, the latter being a kennel-like stable for horses to be bedded while their owners were away. I also spotted The Rifleman Pawn Shop and multiple Guns & Ammo stores, and a couple of other amusing signs: one called Truck Wash, and the other the Stuff It Taxidermy Store. I fully expected to see Burma Shave signs, those famous rhyming and punning adages that used to grace the roads of the south, but they, like the product itself, have disappeared.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Traveling with Oreo
When people asked how we were getting to New Mexico, I responded that we were driving two vehicles--a Honda sedan and a red Ford pick-up, with our shih tzu in the small cab behind the driver's seat. I said it had the makings of a sit-com! The longest distance we had ever traveled with our previous dog, Snowball, was out to Amherst, MA, during which she threw up a good deal of the time. Taking a dog across country in a truck sounded daunting enough, but taking Oreo--an energetic, intense muscle of about 12 pounds, a runner, a ball-catcher--seemed nearly impossible.
Oreo had been quite nervous before our departure because out house was in a state of continual chaos. In the past, he's gotten nervous when we brought out suitcases for overnights or vacations, but this--yard sales, repairmen, painters, bookcases and other furniture disappearing--it was all too disorienting. The only things that kept him calm were walking to the park and running all over our fenced-in backyard in search of a thrown tennis ball. It looked as if puppy claustrophobia was imminent.
But Oreo surprised us. Maybe it was because he knew we were leaving with him rather than whisking him out with household goods. Maybe it was because the back of the truck and the simplicity of motel rooms were a relief after the turmoil at home. In any case, he was nearly an angel. He was a little restless the first night until we realized he liked the comforter on the bed, so we made a nest of it on the floor for him then and every night after that. What surprised us most was that his frenetic energy seemed to have disappeared: as long as he had occasional stops, walks, and cuddles, he seemed completely content.
So, what had worried us about traveling with him turned out to be fine, but we ran into other issues that we hadn't fully expected. Pet-friendly motels abound now--AAA even has a book of them over an inch thick, doorstop size, to consult--and services like BringFido.com and motel websites tell you all you need to know. Policies vary, as do charges, but one policy that seemed unanimous in all the facilities was the "Never leave the dog alone in the room!" rule. Now that's understandable on several levels, not the least of which is that the housekeepers really don't want to wrangle with Robby the Rottweiler while they're trying to make beds and clean bathrooms. Damage to the room is another concern, certainly, and some motels warned of possible eviction if one's dog was unruly. But what that means--keeping constant watch on the dog--is that you never go anywhere with your partner unless the dog comes, too. So, I confess to you here--in the hope that you'll keep our transgression a secret-- that we did indeed leave Oreo alone several times--to eat the continental breakfast (which, by the way, got increasingly white and sweet as we traveled south & west), to visit a friend, to go to a store. We never stayed away long, and we made sure he had his Iams and water, but sometimes--especially since we were driving two cars and spoke infrequently during the day--we just had to make a break for it!
The related problem was that while there are pet-friendly hotels, there are very few pet-friendly restaurants, except for therapy animals. In Charlottesville and along the way through Kentucky, we found outdoor spots at restaurants or on patios, but as we continued west, they became less frequent and in the blazing heat, not too inviting. So we breakfasted and lunched under trees bordering parking lots; fortunately, we had brought our folding chairs. We sat under patio umbrellas at Friendly's and Dairy Queen, the premier ice cream place, it seems, west of the Mississippi; we were invited to sit in a farmer's yard in Indiana, and we got take-out food and brought it into our rooms other times. Oreo had been served water several times at our stops, but at DQ, the young clerk brought him his own Hoodsie-size cup of vanilla soft serve. Unlike many people, he assumes that everyone will love him and they usually do. Perhaps there's a lesson there. Only twice, I think, did we leave him in the room and have dinner out by ourselves.
Even motel-hopping seemed okay with Oreo--maybe it's the sameness of those places with the industrial carpet, the fog of Febreze in the hallways, the standard furniture and linens, and the long corridors. The only hitch was that we discovered that he's afraid of elevators! We first discovered that in Charlottesville where our room was on the third floor, and he balked at getting into the elevator. Every time after that, he would veer away from the elevator doors, dig in his heels, and need to be carried. The first time we thought the source of his fear was the creakiness of the particular elevator--even I was a bit nervous in that one--but wherever we encountered an elevator, he wanted no part of it.
Once we arrived in Albuquerque, he was very content. I think he'd envisioned the rest of his life as one interminable road trip! And funny thing, once he was here and our furniture and other possessions arrived with the familiar smells of home, he settled in and set his sights once again on chasing balls. His favorite spot is at my father-in-law's house, where there's a long, narrow corridor that's perfect for throwing tennis balls. The parks and the mesa are not bad spots either for having a good run.
Oreo had been quite nervous before our departure because out house was in a state of continual chaos. In the past, he's gotten nervous when we brought out suitcases for overnights or vacations, but this--yard sales, repairmen, painters, bookcases and other furniture disappearing--it was all too disorienting. The only things that kept him calm were walking to the park and running all over our fenced-in backyard in search of a thrown tennis ball. It looked as if puppy claustrophobia was imminent.
But Oreo surprised us. Maybe it was because he knew we were leaving with him rather than whisking him out with household goods. Maybe it was because the back of the truck and the simplicity of motel rooms were a relief after the turmoil at home. In any case, he was nearly an angel. He was a little restless the first night until we realized he liked the comforter on the bed, so we made a nest of it on the floor for him then and every night after that. What surprised us most was that his frenetic energy seemed to have disappeared: as long as he had occasional stops, walks, and cuddles, he seemed completely content.
So, what had worried us about traveling with him turned out to be fine, but we ran into other issues that we hadn't fully expected. Pet-friendly motels abound now--AAA even has a book of them over an inch thick, doorstop size, to consult--and services like BringFido.com and motel websites tell you all you need to know. Policies vary, as do charges, but one policy that seemed unanimous in all the facilities was the "Never leave the dog alone in the room!" rule. Now that's understandable on several levels, not the least of which is that the housekeepers really don't want to wrangle with Robby the Rottweiler while they're trying to make beds and clean bathrooms. Damage to the room is another concern, certainly, and some motels warned of possible eviction if one's dog was unruly. But what that means--keeping constant watch on the dog--is that you never go anywhere with your partner unless the dog comes, too. So, I confess to you here--in the hope that you'll keep our transgression a secret-- that we did indeed leave Oreo alone several times--to eat the continental breakfast (which, by the way, got increasingly white and sweet as we traveled south & west), to visit a friend, to go to a store. We never stayed away long, and we made sure he had his Iams and water, but sometimes--especially since we were driving two cars and spoke infrequently during the day--we just had to make a break for it!
The related problem was that while there are pet-friendly hotels, there are very few pet-friendly restaurants, except for therapy animals. In Charlottesville and along the way through Kentucky, we found outdoor spots at restaurants or on patios, but as we continued west, they became less frequent and in the blazing heat, not too inviting. So we breakfasted and lunched under trees bordering parking lots; fortunately, we had brought our folding chairs. We sat under patio umbrellas at Friendly's and Dairy Queen, the premier ice cream place, it seems, west of the Mississippi; we were invited to sit in a farmer's yard in Indiana, and we got take-out food and brought it into our rooms other times. Oreo had been served water several times at our stops, but at DQ, the young clerk brought him his own Hoodsie-size cup of vanilla soft serve. Unlike many people, he assumes that everyone will love him and they usually do. Perhaps there's a lesson there. Only twice, I think, did we leave him in the room and have dinner out by ourselves.
Even motel-hopping seemed okay with Oreo--maybe it's the sameness of those places with the industrial carpet, the fog of Febreze in the hallways, the standard furniture and linens, and the long corridors. The only hitch was that we discovered that he's afraid of elevators! We first discovered that in Charlottesville where our room was on the third floor, and he balked at getting into the elevator. Every time after that, he would veer away from the elevator doors, dig in his heels, and need to be carried. The first time we thought the source of his fear was the creakiness of the particular elevator--even I was a bit nervous in that one--but wherever we encountered an elevator, he wanted no part of it.
Once we arrived in Albuquerque, he was very content. I think he'd envisioned the rest of his life as one interminable road trip! And funny thing, once he was here and our furniture and other possessions arrived with the familiar smells of home, he settled in and set his sights once again on chasing balls. His favorite spot is at my father-in-law's house, where there's a long, narrow corridor that's perfect for throwing tennis balls. The parks and the mesa are not bad spots either for having a good run.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
The Changing Landscape of America
Even though I've traveled widely on the Eastern seaboard and into the South as well as overseas, I'm still surprised and somewhat amazed at our varying landscapes, foods, language, and subtle ways of doing things differently. Living in New England, we tend to think sometimes that the entire U.S. is like our six states (ok, and New York!)--or should be--despite our knowledge to the contrary.
On this trip, we moved from the humid days of Massachusetts to those in Virginia, noting nonetheless our climb into the Blue Ridge Mountains, which seem to be embracing you on the highway. Traveling through West Virginia, where I had not been before, extended our mountain views with the added challenge of curvy highways and steep inclines and the beauty of lush green trees and rock that appeared to have been sliced through with a giant saw. And by the way, did I mention the 70 mph from Virginia and beyond? You'd think it would make the traffic even more dangerous, but it had the effect of slowing things down, strangely enough, as opposed to Boston, where the limit is somewhere between 55 and 65, and a large number of folks go 80 and zigzag across the lanes.
As we continued south west, metropolises faded, giving way to smaller towns and fewer facilities along the road. The intensity of Boston, New York, and the Jersey Turnpike were way behind us, replaced by more natural sights and our first encounter with anti-Obama signs, billboards, and bumper stickers. Note that I said "anti-Obama," not pro-Romney. The focus of the signs was about the coal industry and policies that West Virginians feel are taking away the vitality of their coal industry. Even though they were against the President, I delighted in the fact that they were about an issue, a policy, rather than his birth certificate or his religion.
Kentucky was our next destination, a place I would very much like to visit but did not have the time this trip. Lexington and Louisville were the two major cities we passed through on 70?, the first renown for the Kentucky Derby, which I would love to see someday. Getting off the highway for lunch, we spotted a place with an outdoor patio that could be entered from outside, so that our dog Oreo could be with us. Once we sat in the shade on high stools at a table, the waitress brought a Bud Light aluminum bucket full of ice water for Oreo. The waitress did not just wait on us, she visited with us, a phenomenon we noticed from Virginia through to New Mexico, asking about our trip, the dog, talking about the weather and so on.
Louisville was next on the journey, apparently a city of bridges crossing the Ohio River. We had already been experiencing serious thunderstorms, from Pennsylvania on, but the premier storm was here. The storm clouds moved in and sheets of rain fell, sometimes requiring that we move to the emergency lane, since visibility was impossible. We drove out of the storm, only to realize as we stopped for the night that it had followed us at a slower pace. Coming back from dinner, we sat in the truck with pea-sized hail falling on us.
From West Virginia on, the farmlands were a dominant feature of the landscape, dotted with precisely-coiled bales of hay and cattle. Houses, when you could see them, were farther apart. And as we moved into Indiana, evidence of the drought that has plagued the Midwest began to appear--fields of withered corn, acre upon acre, pale yellow and brown in the intense sunlight. Stopping for lunch in Nashville, IN (yes, you read that correctly!), we had what for an Easterner was a remarkable experience. Seeking something--anything--other than McDonald's and a place in the shade (a rare pleasure), we spotted a little ranch house of a restaurant advertising sandwiches. There was no shade that we could see except on private property surrounding the place, but we decided we'd get sandwiches and picnic somewhere else. When we parked, a black Lab approached the car, wanting to be friends with us and Oreo. Not far behind him (Sam, we later found out) was his owner, riding on a tractor across the lot to another structure housing farm equipment of various kinds. He stopped, greeted us, and recommended the restaurant. When we mentioned we were going to drive on because of the lack of shade, he said "Well, I've got a couple of chairs over there under that tree. You're welcome to have your lunch there." We had to go into the restaurant one at a time so one of us would stay with the dog; while we were waiting, each of us had a long chat with this gentleman, who, it turned out, had traveled to Boston at some point. He said he loved it except that he'd been disappointed in one thing--Plymouth Rock. "It was so small," he said, and I admitted that it is a bit of a letdown. He told us of his travels a bit and shared how good it was to live in the Midwest because in any direction you could find a different climate and activities--just anywhere from 6 to 10 hours away!
Sandwiches in hand, we sat in the shade of his tree, marveling at his openness and courtesy. He gave us space, but came back now and then to see that we were comfortable and share with us the devastation of the drought in Nashville, saying that the corn and soybeans were entirely gone, the corn not even suitable for fodder. He also offered us freshly picked watermelons for $3.00, telling us the best way to eat them is to just smash them on the ground, open them up, and enjoy. We were clearly in another world.
On this trip, we moved from the humid days of Massachusetts to those in Virginia, noting nonetheless our climb into the Blue Ridge Mountains, which seem to be embracing you on the highway. Traveling through West Virginia, where I had not been before, extended our mountain views with the added challenge of curvy highways and steep inclines and the beauty of lush green trees and rock that appeared to have been sliced through with a giant saw. And by the way, did I mention the 70 mph from Virginia and beyond? You'd think it would make the traffic even more dangerous, but it had the effect of slowing things down, strangely enough, as opposed to Boston, where the limit is somewhere between 55 and 65, and a large number of folks go 80 and zigzag across the lanes.
As we continued south west, metropolises faded, giving way to smaller towns and fewer facilities along the road. The intensity of Boston, New York, and the Jersey Turnpike were way behind us, replaced by more natural sights and our first encounter with anti-Obama signs, billboards, and bumper stickers. Note that I said "anti-Obama," not pro-Romney. The focus of the signs was about the coal industry and policies that West Virginians feel are taking away the vitality of their coal industry. Even though they were against the President, I delighted in the fact that they were about an issue, a policy, rather than his birth certificate or his religion.
Kentucky was our next destination, a place I would very much like to visit but did not have the time this trip. Lexington and Louisville were the two major cities we passed through on 70?, the first renown for the Kentucky Derby, which I would love to see someday. Getting off the highway for lunch, we spotted a place with an outdoor patio that could be entered from outside, so that our dog Oreo could be with us. Once we sat in the shade on high stools at a table, the waitress brought a Bud Light aluminum bucket full of ice water for Oreo. The waitress did not just wait on us, she visited with us, a phenomenon we noticed from Virginia through to New Mexico, asking about our trip, the dog, talking about the weather and so on.
Louisville was next on the journey, apparently a city of bridges crossing the Ohio River. We had already been experiencing serious thunderstorms, from Pennsylvania on, but the premier storm was here. The storm clouds moved in and sheets of rain fell, sometimes requiring that we move to the emergency lane, since visibility was impossible. We drove out of the storm, only to realize as we stopped for the night that it had followed us at a slower pace. Coming back from dinner, we sat in the truck with pea-sized hail falling on us.
From West Virginia on, the farmlands were a dominant feature of the landscape, dotted with precisely-coiled bales of hay and cattle. Houses, when you could see them, were farther apart. And as we moved into Indiana, evidence of the drought that has plagued the Midwest began to appear--fields of withered corn, acre upon acre, pale yellow and brown in the intense sunlight. Stopping for lunch in Nashville, IN (yes, you read that correctly!), we had what for an Easterner was a remarkable experience. Seeking something--anything--other than McDonald's and a place in the shade (a rare pleasure), we spotted a little ranch house of a restaurant advertising sandwiches. There was no shade that we could see except on private property surrounding the place, but we decided we'd get sandwiches and picnic somewhere else. When we parked, a black Lab approached the car, wanting to be friends with us and Oreo. Not far behind him (Sam, we later found out) was his owner, riding on a tractor across the lot to another structure housing farm equipment of various kinds. He stopped, greeted us, and recommended the restaurant. When we mentioned we were going to drive on because of the lack of shade, he said "Well, I've got a couple of chairs over there under that tree. You're welcome to have your lunch there." We had to go into the restaurant one at a time so one of us would stay with the dog; while we were waiting, each of us had a long chat with this gentleman, who, it turned out, had traveled to Boston at some point. He said he loved it except that he'd been disappointed in one thing--Plymouth Rock. "It was so small," he said, and I admitted that it is a bit of a letdown. He told us of his travels a bit and shared how good it was to live in the Midwest because in any direction you could find a different climate and activities--just anywhere from 6 to 10 hours away!
Sandwiches in hand, we sat in the shade of his tree, marveling at his openness and courtesy. He gave us space, but came back now and then to see that we were comfortable and share with us the devastation of the drought in Nashville, saying that the corn and soybeans were entirely gone, the corn not even suitable for fodder. He also offered us freshly picked watermelons for $3.00, telling us the best way to eat them is to just smash them on the ground, open them up, and enjoy. We were clearly in another world.
Retroactive Traveling
Sitting here in my living room in Albuquerque, just over a week into our new adventure, surrounded by boxes, I despaired about the blog, which was too ambitious to write on a daily basis after 8 or 9 hours in the car. Then a ray of light--if Mitt Romney (I typed Mitty, which I like!) can retroactively resign, why can't I retroactively travel?? Doing so will no doubt change the content some from a chronological narrative to a more impressionistic one, but I can live with that, and maybe you can live without so much detail!
I will tell you our route; as I do so, some more impressions of the journey may surface. The other posts chart our travels from Winchester to Charlottesville, so I'll pick up the trip from there. Leaving Charlottesville, we quickly entered West Virginia, staying in Charleston for the night. From there we hit a couple of hot spots you may or may not know--Corydon, Indiana, and Robert, Missouri. I had never heard of either one of them. We traveled southwest from Robert to Joplin, which is near the southeastern tip of Kansas, shifting from the interstates to two-lane state roads to our next destination, Winfield, KS, home of my nearly-50-year friend, Judy. Spending three nights in Winfield, hiding from 100+ degree temperatures in air-conditioned cars, homes, and restaurants, we had a wonderful respite. Braving the road and the heat once more, we left Winfield and headed south toward Oklahoma City and on into Amarillo, Texas, for our last stop before reaching Albuquerque.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Visiting David and Thomas Jefferson
Our trip seems to be defined by late-night arrivals and getting to Charlottesville was no different. Determined to arrive on Sunday, we drove and drove and drove, hindered by a couple of thunderstorms and the fatigue from our packing and moving adventures. The last leg of the journey with scenic overlooks of the Blue Ridge Mountains was accomplished in the dark, and we got lost on the final approach amid mountains and lush greenery. But, we ARRIVED!
Our visit began with a late light supper with our son David at a place called Little-John's in an area known as The Corner on University Avenue. The area features pubs, a couple of UVA t-shirt and decal shops, and a couple of variety stores. The restaurant was funky in a college-town way, and we had an enjoyable meal, so glad to see David after our long ride. After we ate, we crossed the street, bordered by a low stone wall, to walk the UVA campus. Given that David's interest is architecture, he'd already familiarized himself with the buildings and their stories and shared the history with us. Walking up to The Rotunda amid a wide variety of trees and brick buildings with white columns, we seemed to be entering another world, one that had not succumbed to the vagaries of modern times. After the heat of the day, the walk was refreshing and tranquil, ending up back where we had begun, at The Corner. The spirit and intelligence of Thomas Jefferson pervades the campus, illustrating the legacy of his ideas in physical space.
The next day David gave us an extensive tour of the architecture building, Campbell Hall, which is one of the few structures with a more contemporary design. It consists of one of the older buildings and two ells that were added on, all with a conscious awareness of the inter-relation of the surrounding area and the building. Once again, as I had had years ago at the SMFA where David went to college, I was amazed by the industrial nature and size of much of the equipment. I guess the large-scale industrial machines--laser printers, table-length saws, wood-working areas, large exhaust tubes, plastic model-making machines to name a few--make more sense in an architecture school than they seemed to in an art school; nonetheless, their size, scope, and the skill required to handle them was impressive. Another area of interest was the exhibit of class projects done on location in a variety of areas focusing on sustainability and the attributes of the culture and the climate in creating buildings.
Along with Jefferson, Edgar Allan Poe features large the history of the school and in the t-shirt shops, their portraits imprinted and their words inscribed on shirts of many colors. Poe, it turns out, went to UVA for a while--one shirt labels him "A distinguished dropout"! Most likely the university wants to take credit for his being distinguished, for the cachet that his association brings to the school, but the phrase sends a mixed message: Was Poe distinguished because he went to UVA or was his fame enhanced by his becoming a dropout? Robert Frost and Bill Gates come to mind as other distinguished people for whom school was an impediment.
The next evening, we visited the Downtown, whose most notable feature is a car-free mall bordered on either side by restaurants and shops. We ate outside at a place called The Whisky Jar, featuring southern food: ham and biscuits, fried chicken, okra, and so on. Good food and good conversation made the evening as we sat in the warm summer night. One thing that interested us and that later became relevant to us traveling with our dog Oreo was that dogs were welcome during the meal on the patio. David explained that pets were more visible and welcome in Charlottesville, where it's customary for a waiter to automatically bring a bowl of water for the dog while getting drinks for the human guests.
Following dinner, we walked the length of the mall, looking at shops, admiring the enormous pots of semi-tropical flowers that graced the space, and ending up at two large, thick chalkboards(about 5 feet high, 6 or 7 feet long, and about 6 inches deep!) complete with colored chalk and erasers, for people to leave messages, drawings, or graffiti. I couldn't resist writing "Oreo was here!" on the board so that he could leave his mark in this dog-friendly place. The following night, we brought him with us and ate at a place called The Nook and watched the folks passing through this college town--visiting freshmen and women with their parents, hippies, boarders, locals, and the professorial crowd.
The Mall impressed us particularly because it was designed so thoughtfully with people and their pleasures in mind. We had known at least two other pedestrian malls--one in Salem, MA, the other in Providence, RI, that had had auspicious beginnings and then had failed dismally. When the mall in Salem was first constructed in the heart of the witch industry, it seemed it would only foster the tourism that the city is so famous for. However, over time, a number of the larger stores bailed out, more and more tacky tourist shops and carts appeared, and the area was not well-maintained. Debris was scattered about and fountains stopped working so that the area became less and less appealing. Thankfully, in the last couple of years, the area has spruced up a bit, anchored at one end by the Peabody Essex Museum and a tourist center, and at the other by new restaurants. Notably, though, the positive changes seem to have occurred in the perimeter of the mall, a street or two over, with the mall itself still floundering in the middle.
In Providence, where three parallel streets--Washington, Westminster, and Weybosset--form the center of downtown, the middle street was converted into a pedestrian mall to bring more people into the city. Operating on the notion of "create it and they will come," the plan relied on the existence of two major department stores--Peerless and Shephard's--to draw folks in. When those stores closed and other smaller ones could not sustain the economy, the city decided to open the street to cars once again. Fortunately, other forms of urban renewal have revitalized the city dramatically without relying on a walkway.
So why did those two northern pedestrian malls fall on hard times and the one in Charlottesville seems so vital? Climate surely is one factor, with Virginia offering a milder environment for strolling, browsing, and eating outside for a greater part of the year. What strikes me, though, is that the Mall in Virginia is a living space, a space where people can do things and interact, which the northern malls were more spaces to visit, to go into--the street life itself was missing.
We stayed in Charlottesville for three nights and wished that we had more time to explore other parts of the area, the Blue Ridge Mountains, the world beyond the university, but David will be there in school for three years, so we'll have opportunities to continue our exploration down the line.
Our visit began with a late light supper with our son David at a place called Little-John's in an area known as The Corner on University Avenue. The area features pubs, a couple of UVA t-shirt and decal shops, and a couple of variety stores. The restaurant was funky in a college-town way, and we had an enjoyable meal, so glad to see David after our long ride. After we ate, we crossed the street, bordered by a low stone wall, to walk the UVA campus. Given that David's interest is architecture, he'd already familiarized himself with the buildings and their stories and shared the history with us. Walking up to The Rotunda amid a wide variety of trees and brick buildings with white columns, we seemed to be entering another world, one that had not succumbed to the vagaries of modern times. After the heat of the day, the walk was refreshing and tranquil, ending up back where we had begun, at The Corner. The spirit and intelligence of Thomas Jefferson pervades the campus, illustrating the legacy of his ideas in physical space.
The next day David gave us an extensive tour of the architecture building, Campbell Hall, which is one of the few structures with a more contemporary design. It consists of one of the older buildings and two ells that were added on, all with a conscious awareness of the inter-relation of the surrounding area and the building. Once again, as I had had years ago at the SMFA where David went to college, I was amazed by the industrial nature and size of much of the equipment. I guess the large-scale industrial machines--laser printers, table-length saws, wood-working areas, large exhaust tubes, plastic model-making machines to name a few--make more sense in an architecture school than they seemed to in an art school; nonetheless, their size, scope, and the skill required to handle them was impressive. Another area of interest was the exhibit of class projects done on location in a variety of areas focusing on sustainability and the attributes of the culture and the climate in creating buildings.
Along with Jefferson, Edgar Allan Poe features large the history of the school and in the t-shirt shops, their portraits imprinted and their words inscribed on shirts of many colors. Poe, it turns out, went to UVA for a while--one shirt labels him "A distinguished dropout"! Most likely the university wants to take credit for his being distinguished, for the cachet that his association brings to the school, but the phrase sends a mixed message: Was Poe distinguished because he went to UVA or was his fame enhanced by his becoming a dropout? Robert Frost and Bill Gates come to mind as other distinguished people for whom school was an impediment.
The next evening, we visited the Downtown, whose most notable feature is a car-free mall bordered on either side by restaurants and shops. We ate outside at a place called The Whisky Jar, featuring southern food: ham and biscuits, fried chicken, okra, and so on. Good food and good conversation made the evening as we sat in the warm summer night. One thing that interested us and that later became relevant to us traveling with our dog Oreo was that dogs were welcome during the meal on the patio. David explained that pets were more visible and welcome in Charlottesville, where it's customary for a waiter to automatically bring a bowl of water for the dog while getting drinks for the human guests.
Following dinner, we walked the length of the mall, looking at shops, admiring the enormous pots of semi-tropical flowers that graced the space, and ending up at two large, thick chalkboards(about 5 feet high, 6 or 7 feet long, and about 6 inches deep!) complete with colored chalk and erasers, for people to leave messages, drawings, or graffiti. I couldn't resist writing "Oreo was here!" on the board so that he could leave his mark in this dog-friendly place. The following night, we brought him with us and ate at a place called The Nook and watched the folks passing through this college town--visiting freshmen and women with their parents, hippies, boarders, locals, and the professorial crowd.
The Mall impressed us particularly because it was designed so thoughtfully with people and their pleasures in mind. We had known at least two other pedestrian malls--one in Salem, MA, the other in Providence, RI, that had had auspicious beginnings and then had failed dismally. When the mall in Salem was first constructed in the heart of the witch industry, it seemed it would only foster the tourism that the city is so famous for. However, over time, a number of the larger stores bailed out, more and more tacky tourist shops and carts appeared, and the area was not well-maintained. Debris was scattered about and fountains stopped working so that the area became less and less appealing. Thankfully, in the last couple of years, the area has spruced up a bit, anchored at one end by the Peabody Essex Museum and a tourist center, and at the other by new restaurants. Notably, though, the positive changes seem to have occurred in the perimeter of the mall, a street or two over, with the mall itself still floundering in the middle.
In Providence, where three parallel streets--Washington, Westminster, and Weybosset--form the center of downtown, the middle street was converted into a pedestrian mall to bring more people into the city. Operating on the notion of "create it and they will come," the plan relied on the existence of two major department stores--Peerless and Shephard's--to draw folks in. When those stores closed and other smaller ones could not sustain the economy, the city decided to open the street to cars once again. Fortunately, other forms of urban renewal have revitalized the city dramatically without relying on a walkway.
So why did those two northern pedestrian malls fall on hard times and the one in Charlottesville seems so vital? Climate surely is one factor, with Virginia offering a milder environment for strolling, browsing, and eating outside for a greater part of the year. What strikes me, though, is that the Mall in Virginia is a living space, a space where people can do things and interact, which the northern malls were more spaces to visit, to go into--the street life itself was missing.
We stayed in Charlottesville for three nights and wished that we had more time to explore other parts of the area, the Blue Ridge Mountains, the world beyond the university, but David will be there in school for three years, so we'll have opportunities to continue our exploration down the line.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Why didn't someone remind me about New Jersey?
I guess there was no getting around it--going to New Jersey, I mean. I haven't been there in years, and I had deluded myself that going on the Garden State Parkway for a good part of the way would make the rest of the ride more tolerable. Wrong. The Garden State Parkway is quite lovely, reminiscent of the Merritt Parkway back in the day, two lanes, tree shrouded, and, if memory serves, trailer truck free. Once we linked from the Garden State to the NJ Turnpike, however, the whole game changed. First, it was the planes at Newark Airport skimming the overpasses, and then the frenzy of the six lanes of traffic. I'm a Boston driver, after all, and I've driven in Manhattan a number of times, but the Jersey Turnpike tests the mettle of even the most veteran drivers. Then, to top it off, there's the "scenery"-- oil tanks, smoking pipes, freight yards, and the like. The one difference is that it no longer smells like burning rubber, which it did many years ago. Then you had to try to stop breathing until you reached Philadelphia. Certainly it's a bustling area of commerce, but that's the problem in a way--add bustling to frenzy, and you have a highly charged combination which doesn't lend itself to relaxing driving. Oh well, guess I'm just not a Jersey girl!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Maps from Long Ago
'We carry with us maps from long ago.," writes Julie Checkoway in her memoir Maps, an account of her deprived childhood and later travel and research in China.
The first leg of our trip was both a going forward and a looping back. My long-ago maps were first refreshed when we left Auburn, MA, our first stop "west" and went through Sturbridge to get on Rt. 84. Sturbridge has been a significant place in my life for many years, first as a half-way spot between Providence and Lee, where my best friend Judy lived. We would meet for a picnic at the Brimfield Reservoir with her aunt's dog Poochie, and later with my friends Jim and Patty from Attleboro. In later years, that same spot became the place of the Judy-swap when Judy was visiting from Kansas and her sister Mickey would meet us there for lunch and an exchange of Judy and her luggage.
Moving further west, we encountered Danbury, Connecticut, the biggest city near Ridgefield, where we lived when we were first married. I taught at Darien High School while there, the same school that my dear friend Patty had attended, thus linking pieces of my present with my past and the friends with whom I'd crossed paths. Driving into White Plains and to the Tappan Zee Bridge brought back memories of trips to New York City when we lived in Ridgefield, going to meet my mother at the Scottish games, and traveling to see Michael's family in Delaware.
The most vivid maps I experienced on the drive were those on the New Jersey and Pennsylvania Turnpikes. My earliest memories of the road in New Jersey were of driving to Pennsylvania in the 1950s so that my father could play with his dance band in Ligonier, PA at the Rolling Rock Club, a private club with members of the famous Mellon family. New Jersey played a large role in my life again as I attended Rutgers, my first graduate school, to study English literature for one glorious semester in 1968. On this trip, we stayed in nearby East Brunswick (more on New Jersey in another post), a confusing, bustling web of large strip malls on a divided highway. The only way to get here from there, it turns out, is by driving about half a mile to a turn lane, looping around, and going back in the other direction. A blur of cars, glass, large display signs: consumerism at its hectic best. If you miss the turn--you've got it!--you repeat the process at the next turnaround.
These maps or memories so moved me that I suddenly began to cry crossing a bridge on the Penn. Turnpike. Tears out of nowhere, seemingly. Memories of driving with my parents, watching for "my" Palomino horse at the Ligonier exit, staying in hotels for the first time and eating out a lot. Not fast food, as I told my students recently, but local restaurant fare, Howard Johnson's, or picnic fixin's from a nearby grocery. The NJ and Penn Turnpikes were the first highways of their kind back in the '50s, with most roads being two, sometimes three lanes at most. Now the NJ Turnpike is 6 lanes on each side, divided through New Brunswick by 3 lanes for cars only and 3 for cars, trucks, and other vehicles.
Those early "adventures" shaped my life in many ways, opening up the possibilities of travel, meeting people different from those in Boston, and learning, from my parents' example, how to navigate not only the highways of the time, but the subtle cultural differences and ways of being that exist in just the span from Mass. to Penn. Curious that my parents' peers used to wonder what such adventures would deprive me of--the small house with the white picket fence, living in the same neighborhood until grown, stability, etc.--but they rarely thought about what the experiences would provide or understood that with your family as your core and a delight in the open road, the other elements would not be so necessary.
The first leg of our trip was both a going forward and a looping back. My long-ago maps were first refreshed when we left Auburn, MA, our first stop "west" and went through Sturbridge to get on Rt. 84. Sturbridge has been a significant place in my life for many years, first as a half-way spot between Providence and Lee, where my best friend Judy lived. We would meet for a picnic at the Brimfield Reservoir with her aunt's dog Poochie, and later with my friends Jim and Patty from Attleboro. In later years, that same spot became the place of the Judy-swap when Judy was visiting from Kansas and her sister Mickey would meet us there for lunch and an exchange of Judy and her luggage.
Moving further west, we encountered Danbury, Connecticut, the biggest city near Ridgefield, where we lived when we were first married. I taught at Darien High School while there, the same school that my dear friend Patty had attended, thus linking pieces of my present with my past and the friends with whom I'd crossed paths. Driving into White Plains and to the Tappan Zee Bridge brought back memories of trips to New York City when we lived in Ridgefield, going to meet my mother at the Scottish games, and traveling to see Michael's family in Delaware.
The most vivid maps I experienced on the drive were those on the New Jersey and Pennsylvania Turnpikes. My earliest memories of the road in New Jersey were of driving to Pennsylvania in the 1950s so that my father could play with his dance band in Ligonier, PA at the Rolling Rock Club, a private club with members of the famous Mellon family. New Jersey played a large role in my life again as I attended Rutgers, my first graduate school, to study English literature for one glorious semester in 1968. On this trip, we stayed in nearby East Brunswick (more on New Jersey in another post), a confusing, bustling web of large strip malls on a divided highway. The only way to get here from there, it turns out, is by driving about half a mile to a turn lane, looping around, and going back in the other direction. A blur of cars, glass, large display signs: consumerism at its hectic best. If you miss the turn--you've got it!--you repeat the process at the next turnaround.
These maps or memories so moved me that I suddenly began to cry crossing a bridge on the Penn. Turnpike. Tears out of nowhere, seemingly. Memories of driving with my parents, watching for "my" Palomino horse at the Ligonier exit, staying in hotels for the first time and eating out a lot. Not fast food, as I told my students recently, but local restaurant fare, Howard Johnson's, or picnic fixin's from a nearby grocery. The NJ and Penn Turnpikes were the first highways of their kind back in the '50s, with most roads being two, sometimes three lanes at most. Now the NJ Turnpike is 6 lanes on each side, divided through New Brunswick by 3 lanes for cars only and 3 for cars, trucks, and other vehicles.
Those early "adventures" shaped my life in many ways, opening up the possibilities of travel, meeting people different from those in Boston, and learning, from my parents' example, how to navigate not only the highways of the time, but the subtle cultural differences and ways of being that exist in just the span from Mass. to Penn. Curious that my parents' peers used to wonder what such adventures would deprive me of--the small house with the white picket fence, living in the same neighborhood until grown, stability, etc.--but they rarely thought about what the experiences would provide or understood that with your family as your core and a delight in the open road, the other elements would not be so necessary.
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