The Little Things

When you experience something new, the most insignificant details can stick to your mind like a stubborn bur.  Sure, the city’s landmarks, and fashion, and sights all can be recalled, but those little things that you notice in a new place are what really stand over time.  Everyone who goes to Paris visits the Eiffel Tower, or Big Ben in London, or the Trevi Fountain in Rome.  But once you sift through the common experience, every traveler has his or her own; it could be something as trivial as breaking a shoelace while climbing the Spanish Steps, or as quaking as breaking up with a significant other over the phone while watching the sun rise over the Charles Bridge in Prague—these are moments firmly stamped, and they are yours.

On my trip to Venice I couldn’t get over the fact that every street is water(!), or how laid back the lifestyle is, or the beautiful, centuries old architecture; I also noticed that no matter what chair I sat in while visiting Venice, four legs did touch the ground.  They seem not to have placed value in the balance of chair manufacturing in Venice, and this is what I most remember now.  In Piazza San Marco, outside, admiring the bell tower,  wobbled like a gondola while trying to sip a beer.  Along an out-of-the-way canal, at a pizza shop, enjoying the best pizza of my life, I had to take that slice ever so carefully so as not to burn my tongue from the teetering chair legs (and of course I refused to use fork and knife).  That is my Venice.  It is not a beautiful detail, or even a particularly unique detail, but it is mine.  So I implore any traveler; get away from the common experience and find the minutia of a new city.  Find your experience.  I guarantee you will remember the little things because they are yours, and can not be searched on the internet or found in travel essays, but will remain as easy to recall as an earmark in a memory of a place .

This video is a testament to minutia.  It captures the fleetingness of travel better than any film I have seen, and its only five minutes.  So take five, and visit Venice, then go and find your own little things.

Salem, MA

If you live in the city of Boston you probably haven’t been to Salem as result of a conscious, deliberate, education-seeking choice.   Very few people have explored the options the Greater Boston Area has to offer, and, smacking their finger down on the map, exclaim: “Yes, Lets jump in the car and drive to Salem for the day!”  More than likely you’ve been there on a hot June day with your band of fellow sweaty 6^th or 7^th graders and whispered through the entire Salem Witch Museum presentation before eating lunch in the town green.  All the while enjoying the simple fact that it was not the confines of Harrison Middle School, or wherever you happened to go at the time.  The costumed characters roaming around the village may have provided a brief moment of intrigue for you, but you probably remember little else from that day.

Cliché haunts this village almost as much as the witchy kitsch, but if the Salem Witch Museum and other similar attractions can be overlooked, Salem possesses a kind of historic wink; a look that leads you to believe its not showing all it has to offer, that few other New England towns have.

Sometimes you have to explore the previously dismissed local land to rediscover a place.  Living in a city can leave a person void of outside experience.  That is not to say Boston is without unique experiences in itself, but sometimes a walk of the property can be good on a boring Saturday morning.  It is nice to take stock of ones usual surroundings; to dig to the back of the shelf in order to find forgotten ingredients. That is what I did on my trip to Salem.  I had been to Salem once before– in 7^th grade for a “Crucible” focused trip.  And honestly, I remember little else besides the uproarious laughter my friends and I broke out in when we spotted a sign of a local liquor store called “Butthole Liquors”.   Sad to say Arthur Miller did not catch my mind with his talk of the devil and girls in trance.

I have to admit I did check out the Salem Witch Museum just to see what I missed while I was fooling around back when I went in 7th grade.

Following the mysterious red line to all the historic sites

My second trip to Salem was much more enjoyable.  The 30 min train ride cost me a mere $10.50 (round trip) and I left from North Station with a flock of beach goers no doubt bound for Singing beach or Rockport.  When I arrived in Salem I found the town pleasantly free.  It was not deserted but not exactly bustling.  I suppose the summer in Salem is less attractive than a haunted, spooky, misty October night when all the old ghosts return.  I followed a red stripe on the sidewalk which I assumed– with no confirmation– was a self-guided tour of historical Salem.  And this town was very historical.  The churches and houses in Old Historic Salem dated back to the late 1600’s.

Even trying to redesign this town in my mind back then was difficult to imagine these same structures existing.  People say Boston is cold, and people say Boston is a bit inconvenient, but the history in this city, and surrounding it, places a man in such an insignificant role it is impossible not to respect.   However, whenever I plan a trip in the Boston area I become very weary of a few words used in countless reviews of Boston suburbia.  There are so many quaint towns, and charming towns, and historic towns, it is hard to decipher all these adjectives.  Which one is truly the quaintest of the quaint?  Or the most charming of the charmed? Or even the oldest of the most historic?  How can I know that I am experiencing authenticity, and a true-to-word charming village?  Well, it’s impossible, and to its credit, Salem seems to know its place.

It has the historic tourist traps, but it also has a thriving beach scene called Winter Island.  A 25 min walk from downtown Salem, this rocky-shored beach gave me a nice rejuvenated feeling after a short lunch at The Old Spot Tavern.  To my surprise, the tavern didn’t even have a draught beer called “Witches Brew” (it seems such an easy sell!).   By and large, my trip to Salem was more than just an historic adventure; one aimed at getting some local culture in me.  It was a trip to really find out what an often talked about, but seldom visited town has to offer to someone from around here.

The Salem Bookstore has one of the most interesting shelving situations I've seen

Salem brought me back to its’ meaningful past in an area of the country where it is easy to become blind to the history around us. It is a place to enjoy the developing art culture and a stroll by ancient structures with an ice cream cone in hand.  My time there was short, but ultimately lasting in a way that an urban adventure could not provide.  Only thirty minutes from Boston is a town whose old story is well told, but is just now sitting down to tell a new one.

Check out the Photos section for Salem pictures

A few locals enjoy the rocky shores of Winter Island

Traveltracks Is Back

It’s been a few months since I’ve returned to Boston, and I have actively forgotten about train rides, sitting, looking out of windows, or any sort of reminder of the gruelingly long rides I took.  But from here on out I plan on keeping up with the blog in a new way.  Towards the end there, I really was using more stick than carrot to urge myself along those last few Amtrak rides, but have now had ample time to find work, establish a boring routine, and treat my body horribly throughout the Bruins historic playoff run.  Has there ever been a better time to live in Boston?  The young Bruins team are enjoying the summer of their lives either locally or back in their native countries while we here anticipate the upcoming Patriots season with the jitters of a first prom night.  It should be an entertaining season if nothing else.

Boston Bruins rookie Brad Marchand taking an alternative form of public transportation– the Boston Duck Boats– at the Stanley Cup Champion's parade in June.

I’ve enjoyed my time of respite since returning from my month long journey on the tracks, but I’ve found myself sickened again with the germ of routine.  Not to say that I don’t enjoy my work teaching ESL, but living weekend to weekend is not my idea of summer at all.  The combination of this restlessness, the Bruins making history, and the revived spirit Boston tends to get come the time of year when the air stays warm and thick past 8pm, has lead me to continue my travels.  Albeit a bit more locally.  I will stay on the tracks (or road) via the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority and welcome all it has to offer.  For the remaining days of summer and into the fall I plan on exploring the historic sites, new-age activities, and natural beauties the subway lines, the Commuter Rail, or even the lowly bus system can take me.  In mini-expeditions that hopefully will put a stop to my habit of laying around and seeing the city I live in as just that; the place in which I live.  Instead, I aim to experience it as an outsider would.

The far reaching arms of the Commuter Rail

This is not designed to be a demonstration of the wonders of public transport, or even a journey to experience the distant reaches of the MBTA, but rather a series of unique excursions using this transit system as my by-way; a tool to get from point A to B.  The emphasis here is on the B, the destination. But the experience of my time in between, the journey, will not be lost either, keeping with the mantra.  There are countless articles in the Globe’s travel section, and Boston Magazine’s “52 Weekend Getaways” Issue that detail over-priced yet lovely getaways.  Not only is the cost a bit lofty, but the common requirement of a vehicle could perhaps deter many potential escapists.  This chapter of Traveltracks is designed to highlight locales around the Greater Boston Area that are both worthwhile and accessible. So I hope you enjoy the second helping of Traveltracks, and as always; feel free to leave comments, suggestions, or a trip you have taken in the area that you think I might enjoy.   Stay tuned for my first local adventure.

Last Stop: Chicago

For my final stop, the “Windy City” was pleasantly warm.  The heart of downtown was stirring with a nice spring breeze off of Lake Michigan that even a fifteen-hour, showerless train ride could not ruin. It has been an incredible experience but in all honesty I have become a bit jaded by city attractions, “must-sees” and museums of any kind.  However, meeting up with my friends Eliza, Jim, and their friend Patrick was a perfect ending to a long journey.   We caught up over an early dinner at a nearby pub on the North Side before catching the bus downtown to walk through the city.  The unseasonably nice weather coaxed jackets off even the most skeptical Chicagoans, my tour guides included.  They brought me through an interesting model of the city before we walked into the famed millennium park to see what was surely an acid induced creation, but nonetheless incredible sculpture known as “The Bean”.  Continuing up Michigan Ave. Jim and Patrick, who are working in engineering and landscape architecture respectively, gave me a brief history of every interesting building we passed.  It was a unique way to walk a city and was nice to get it for free.  We then took advantage of a secret only known by the most savvy deal-hunters –the lounge at the top of the Hancock Tower.  Instead of paying the $20 fee to get off at the Observatory, we rode the elevator one floor up and only paid $8.25 for a drink in the lounge, which gives equally expansive views of the sprawling city and is not overrun with tourists.  It was especially beautiful at night, the lights and streets traced the neighborhoods like veins through an arm.

View from the top of the Hancock Tower

After a drink at the Hancock Lounge we jumped back on the bus uptown to enjoy another of Chicago’s secrets.  Known for their famous Char-Dog and Chocolate Shake, the Weiner’s circle was an exceptional way to end the night.  The Char dog includes mustard, tomatoes, a full pickle, and some type of neon green relish that, separate may sound unappetizing, but together form the perfect hot-dog.  On top of that, the chocolate shake was unlike any other I have tasted.  Truly out-of-this-world –good.  The blend of light and  dark chocolate, and ice cream that seemingly bounces with flavor made for an experience I will never forget.  If you do nothing else in Chicago, you need to go to The Weiner’s Circle and order a Chocolate Shake.  They tend to be on the expensive side, but believe me, its worth every sip.

Chicago was an unexpected highlight of my trip and although I was a beaten down traveler I genuinely enjoyed my time there.  I was glad to pull out of Union Station headed East, and even the twenty-four hour train ride ahead of me did not dilute my excitement for getting home.

Two for the Price of None: Salt Lake and Denver

After a nice quick flight to Salt Lake City I found myself hopping on yet another public transit bus and navigating the wide streets of yet another new city to my hostel.  Admittedly the plane ride to Salt Lake was a nice change of pace.  And spending a good portion of my childhood waiting in lines, eating squishy breakfast sandwiches from airport vendors, and making sure I had all my tickets and IDs, made me feel back at home in Terminal A8 waiting for the boarding call.  My accommodations in SLC were modest; I had found the cheapest hostel on hostelworld.com and booked two nights at Camelot Hostel from my phone.  With my own room, towel, and small T.V. it did beat some of the others I had stayed in.  It was also just on the outskirts of downtown so getting into the city center was easy.  I think the most unique thing about it was their self check-in.  It is a very trusting, but innovative new way to check yourself in and out without seeing a manager once.  The keys are kept in a small locked box next to your room and when you enter your reservation number into the “Check-In” computer in the lobby you receive the code and wireless Internet password.  It really worked out for me since I arrived during off hours and needed to check out at 1:30am to catch a train.  I did not have to hassle with the process on either end but could see it as a frustrating process for those unfamiliar.  If any problems should occur the owner lives close by and has pasted his personal number all around the hostel on neat announcement sheets.  I had never seen this type of service before, and am not quite sure it is not as much revolutionary as payroll conscience, but it worked for me.

The Camelot Hostel in Salt Lake City

Spending only a little over 24 hours in SLC did not give me much time to explore but I walked through Temple Square and actually enjoyed some of the things I learned about the Mormon religion.  To be honest I found the murals and architecture very intriguing and spent the majority of the time roaming around the visitor’s center eavesdropping on missionaries as they guided mostly older couples across the grounds.  The temple was very impressive and the famed Mormon Tabernacle Choir had the building closed off for practice.  Besides Temple Square, I really did not see a huge Mormon influence in the city save for the infrequence of liquor stores.

The Atrium of Salt Lake City Public Library

I also spent a lot of time in the Salt Lake City Public Library, which is a marvel to observe.  Standing five stories tall, and depending mostly on natural light, the library holds over 500,000 books.  The enormous, glass cubed atrium is centered around balconies of reading spaces and computer desks.  From the corner where I sat, I was high enough to see the center of downtown and also the surrounding mountains that seem to stand guard over the city.  Every time I looked up I could catch a glimpse of a mountain through the buildings, it was a nice switch from the low-rise architecture of Sacramento.  After my short stop in SLC I boarded my train at the excruciatingly inconvenient hour of 3:30am and headed to Denver.

Denver had a great ski-town feel to it while also giving off a distinct city character throughout.  The ride in from the west was gorgeous; snow covered gorges sloped into flat-rocked plains as the city approached in the distance.  So far, the ride from L.A. to San Francisco, and this one from Salt Lake City to Denver have been the most interesting.  I’ve found myself in the observation car with my book on my lap, eyes wide in admiration of the landscapes going by.

During my time in Denver I was able to catch up with a few old friends as well.  My friend Ana, who works for the Avalanche in Denver, was able to get me a great ticket to the game on the night of my arrival.  From the train station I grabbed a cab to my hostel and for the first time in my life I was able to say, “keep it running” as I ran inside to quickly check in to my hostel before whipping off to the Pepsi Center to catch the last two periods of the game.  The six-dollar increase on the meter really burst my balloon and the coolness factor of being able to have a cab running for me quickly wore off.  The game was great, even though the Av’s lost, and I returned to my hostel exhausted from the train ride and happy to have a bed to sleep in.  Besides the fact that the Denver International Youth hostel was an old elementary school, housed only one other guy in the entire place, and was most likely haunted, it was a fine place to stay for $15 per night.  Luckily the next day I met up with my good friend Eli and we enjoyed a fun night out in the city before I returned to the DIYH to sleep.  Despite protests from Eli, I was determined to get my moneys worth, and didn’t want to miss check out time in the morning.

Eli and I enjoying Denver's Nightlife

The next day was beautiful weather, around 75 degrees and sunny, so we walked along the 16^th St. Mall downtown and through the beautiful Riverfront Park.  Denver really has an awesome array of parks throughout the city.  City Park is its’ biggest which boasts two ponds, endless running trails, and the Denver Museum of Nature and Science.  It was a fantastic place to walk around, read a book, and get a sunburn.

Another memorable aspect of my trip to Denver was the Rockie’s Opening Day festivities.  It is that special time of year again when overpriced hotdogs, pretzels, and beers find their way into the hands of millions of Americans.  It is the time of year when it can be anyone’s; a hopeful rebirth into life measured in 162 installments.   A buzz was in the air, and clouding the brains of most of those on Wazzee street on Friday afternoon but it was a fun atmosphere to take in.  Coors Field was the center of a passionate exuding of team pride, and, if only for one weekend, the city held belief in a future championship for the Rockies.  It made me excited for the Redsox home opener only three days after I get back to Boston.  I could not wait for a true Opening Day; one where confidence is justified, spirit is perpetuated, and eternal truth seems to be in the air with every crack of the bat.  Perhaps that is a bit exaggerated, but Opening Day at Fenway is something to behold.

All in all, my trip to Denver was a great time and catching up with old friends is always nice.  My twelve-hour train ride to Chicago was long, but tolerable, and I was able to meet some more friends from High school and enjoy my last stop.  Stay tuned for my post about a short, but awesomely sweet time in the Windy City.  Also, check out the PHOTO section for any updates to my gallery.

 

Up and Down in the Northwest

You don’t go to the Louvre and forget your glasses.  You don’t turn down your mother’s home cooked meal.  And you don’t go to Portland, OR without sampling (or indulging) in some beer and coffee.  As arguably the beer capital of America the amount of time and effort and emotion that the great people of Portland put into their brews is unmatched.  Likewise, Portland is the shyer, hippier,  but equally talented younger sibling to America’s epicenter of java, Seattle.  Oregonians seem to take pleasure in the small things in life that can yield large amounts of happiness.  At a local farmers market I ordered a regular Americano coffee, but the swishing, and clanging, and stirring that went on behind the counter made me think I had requested some ridiculous cup of ‘joe’ capable of changing my life.  The passion these people have for their beer and coffee is inspiring, and while I am no expert on either, I felt like I was improving my beverage IQ simply by enjoying maybe a little too much of each.

My fantastic host Garrett, a native Mainer like myself but now proud resident of the other Portland, knew the in’s and out’s of a great weekend in the City of Roses.  From the second he plunged a cup of coffee into my hand upon my arrival, to the final beer we shared at 2am (possibly 3am) the morning of my departure Garrett exposed me to a fascinating, albeit mellow Northwest metropolis.  I can’t give you a place-by-place account of my time in Portland, it would be too lengthy, and I also mentally can not recall each, but here are some of the highlights:

The Saturday market is a potpourri of great food, beer, art, music, jewelry, and hilarious T-shirts.  Despite being a weekly occurrence, it felt like an annual celebration that the city spends months planning.  It is a true testament to the passion these people have for enjoying arts and culture, and supporting all things local.  Kids that couldn’t have been older than twelve were camped out on the street playing music, and were actually very talented.  Street artists don’t beg passers-by to buy their sketchings but instead invite them to take a look at their impressive pieces of artwork.  Another staple at the Saturday Market is of course the beer.  Rogue Distillery, a local alehouse, maintained a tent stocked with their award winning beer.  Although a bit early in the day, a nice Rogue ‘Dead Guy’ ale and lamb Gyro went well together while roaming the market.

Where there’s beer in Portland, there’s coffee in Portland.  Just a few blocks from the Saturday Market is the Farmer’s Market.  It is a great place to get that large Americano while sampling organic cheeses, breads, jams, and meats that, without restraint, could induce face-stuffing.  The proprietors are all independent, and I didn’t want to steal their hard work, so I held back gobbling all their samples but it was hard.   Perhaps if I had held off on a last micro-brew the night before I would have had enough cash to buy a sample of cheese or meat, but I had to pick my poison.

My time in Portland was a weekend of ups and downs with delicious food keeping me running.  The coffee was rich, the beer was full, and they both worked to stave off the other while complimenting each other nicely as well.  It was all too perfect though; as I asked the Amtrak attendant at the station to print off my next set of tickets, he informed there was an Avalanche in Utah that had shut down a large portion of the track from Sacramento to Salt Lake City.  My option would be to take a bus to Reno, Nevada and then pick up the train from there to Salt Lake.  It would also require me to spend 30 of the next 33 hours of my life on the train.  Just too much.  Already tired, and a bit hungover, I just did not feel like dealing with this dilemma.  I told him thank you for the information, but I will just figure it out when I get to Sacramento.  It was a bit short-sighted, and I probably should have given myself more time to plan, but it has all worked out regardless.  My new plan is to veer off track (my last train pun I promise) and fly from Sacramento to Salt Lake.  This both gets me in at 3:50 pm instead of 3:15 am and leaves me with some time to see a little of Salt Lake City Tuesday afternoon.  I know this trip was supposed to be all connected to the ground, but sometimes Mother Nature calls an audible and you have to go with it.  I’m not complaining as I sit here in the terminal with free Wi-Fi, my one small carry-on, and a magazine, but I will miss one of the most beautiful portions of the country not riding the California Zephyr.

Also, I’ve been in contact a bit with the New York Times’ Frugal Traveler Seth Kugel and he shared this great video with me from his ride on Amtrak.  It brings back memories of my own from riding through the south, and also makes me wish I had brought a video camera.  Check it out:  It is a fantastically accurate account of riding long distance on Amtrak.  http://video.nytimes.com/video/2010/09/07/travel/1248068988248/the-frugal-traveler-touring-the-south.html

 

Cafe Crawling in San Francisco

The sights and attractions that draw crowds to any city are telling of the aesthetic value a certain place holds in the collective perception.  Tourism boards across the country attempt to create a sense of heritage and uniqueness that leaves visitors with a feeling of both connection and exoticism after they have left.  Whether manufactured, or genuine, a city that truly produces these emotions in its guests takes on an illusive complex that keeps visitors coming back.  To know a place well is a reassuring feeling, but to know that a place will always provide something unique is a feeling not to be lost.  For me San Francisco was all of these things; mysterious, friendly, manageable, and capturing all at the same time.  But how I found the city was not through the long lines or shops or visitor information booths.  Instead it was through café conversations and tiring walks.

By some turn of meteorological misfortune the incredible weather I had in New Orleans, San Antonio, and Tucson did not follow me up into California.  For the majority of my days both on and off the train, unpredictable rain and wind have soaked me from the soles of my shoes upwards.  San Francisco was no exception.  The first night I arrived in Oakland –Amtrak does not have service directly from L.A. to San Francisco- the weather was mild enough to walk to my hotel.  However, when I woke in the morning to ambiguous skies I was fully prepared to spend another day enjoying indoor activities.  Luckily the rain was inconsistent and I took advantage of the spots of sun down by Pier 39 in San Fran after a quick trip over from Oakland on the BART train.  The seals, Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge were all some great sights to see.  Unfortunately I somehow deleted all my photos on my phone, but what can you do?

After my friend Andrew (who played a great host during this stop) got out of work, we went for a jog around Golden Gate Park on the West side of the city.  One of the largest parks in America, the Golden Gate Park was astounding to run through and I found myself enjoying some much needed exercise and time amidst nature.  As night, and more rain, fell we decided on a fantastic Mexican restaurant nearby called Tortilla Heights.  The East coast has its’ Tortilla Flats, and San Fran- known for its calf straining hills- has places called Tortilla Heights for good reason.  The first day was great, and the combination of an enormous burrito and walking around with a 30 pound pack on most of the day put me right to sleep.

I’m pretty sure I owe the National Weather Service a nasty letter for not alerting me of the hurricane that occurred in the Bay Area on Thursday morning.   As I stepped out the door, umbrella in hand and ready to explore, pressing rain and wind crashed over me like shore-bound waves.  Barely clinging to my umbrella, I was already wet from the belt down before I could even think of finding a bus stand or taxi.  Thinking of my own personal budget deficit, and helplessly squishy sneakers, I decided to walk to see the “Painted Ladies” of Alamo Sq.  These multi-level apartments can be seen on almost any postcard of San Francisco, and in the timeless program ‘Full House’.  They were great, beautiful, cheery; all of that, I snapped a picture then quickly made my escape to the nearest coffee shop.

A second enormous coffee made for a jittery walk down Haight St.

I found myself walking on Haight St. after enjoying a coffee, the famous artistic (hippie) center of San Francisco is the former neighborhood of Janis Joplin, Jerfferson Airplane, and Jimi Hendrix among others.  Cafes dotted the street and I found myself crossing back and forth across intersections to find available seating at the packed coffee houses.  Dred-locked locals smoked cigarettes outside ‘head shops’ displaying ornate Hooka pipes and advertising easily attainable medical cards for a certain herb said to cure everything from anxiety to glaucoma.  I passed on the cards and instead enjoyed my second enormous cup of coffee called a “depth charge”, and was definitely feeling the caffeine as I skimmed the local Arts and Culture magazine.  Just as I began to forget how wet I was it started to pour once more so I made the executive decision to invest two dollars in a bus ride to… anywhere.

The number 38 pulled up and I took my seat near the window to enjoy my own personal tour of the city.  As my luck would have it about 5 stops down the line it was the end of the route and time for the driver’s break.  The good part was I was close to the Persidio, a beautifully preserved part of the city that is half park, half neighborhood, and all stair-master.  The hills were exhausting but the scenery was beautiful and the Golden Gate Bridge could be seen poking out of the fog in the distance.   Completely saturated at this point, I made a second executive decision and hailed a cab back to Andrew’s place to dry off and rest my already aching calves.  Although I didn’t get to see the touristy sights, did not ride a cable car, and somehow did a ton of walking in a hilly, rainy city, I really enjoyed San Francisco and left with a feeling of wanting more.

The ride up to Oregon has been stunning and although I thought I would hate to see snow anytime soon, the mountains and white landscapes are some of the best I’ve seen on the trip.  Stay tuned for my weekend with my friend Garrett in the Portland of the West.

I’d also like to take this time to thank all my hosts so far: they all have been so accommodating and I really would have been lost without each.  Finally, don’t forget to stop by Whistlestop for my next episode there, and if you want even more frequent updates find me on Twitter.

Woke up to Snow on my way to Portland