Category Archives: Travel

Last week at this time I was setting out to Boston en route to JoAnn’s Fall Gathering in Cape Cod. She sets a wonderful atmosphere, and on the day of the party the whole universe conspired to grant a gorgeous sun-filled afternoon, with just enough chill in the air to make the hot cider and warm dishes all the more delectable. As I cradled a cup of steaming goodness in my hands, and pulled a bulky sweater tighter to my chest, I surveyed the beauty at hand.

JoAnn is the person who taught me how to cut and preserve the bittersweet vines. (The trick is to cut them when their berries have not yet opened; if you wait too long and they’ve already shown some orange, they will simply fall apart as soon as you bring them inside. Cutting them early enough keeps them intact.) She also forces forsythia in the early spring, so I have a pretty good gauge of the seasons based on what I find on her tables.

Having skipped a big fall get-together last year, this was a return to form, and she went all out to make sure the day was perfect – going so far as to hire her own private band for the festivities. Of course, it’s not just the decorations, food, and entertainment that make a party – but rather the guests, and in that respect we were rich and lucky in spirit and attendance.

Though I only get to see most of these folks once every two or three years (and usually at a JoAnn event) they still feel like a group of cherished family and friends (particularly with the advent of FaceBook). The Cape Crew has always proven itself worthy of soap opera dramatics, and getting to watch some of the events unfold from a safe and manageable distance makes this group such an engaging and compelling collection of personalities.

At its heart, though, it’s a group filled with love and passion. There may be fighting, there may be estrangements, and there may be anger and drama and bitterness from time to time, but it’s all done out of love. That’s what binds all of us together. No matter how much time has passed, no matter how far we may travel, and no matter what has come between us, there is always room for healing, hope for a new reunion. I live for those moments, when people are brought together and reminded of all the good times and happy occasions that have gone before.

I arrived at JoAnn’s cozy bungalow, situated just a few steps from Eel Pond just over the Bourne Bridge, early in the day, but only an hour or so before her annual Fall Gathering was set to begin. As is custom, I took a moment to walk to the pond and center myself. It is a peaceful vista – whether summer, winter, spring, or fall – and there is no better way to regroup and refocus than with a breath of that life-giving air. Seagulls flew overhead, those emblematic Cape Cod residents casting shadows in the sky, and water grasses waved gracefully in the slightest breeze. JoAnn is fortunate enough to live near this beauty, and can do this every day. That is one of the perils of being in close and constant proximity to beauty – the danger that we might take it for granted. On this day, at this moment, as my eyes scan left to right across the expanse of water, I take it in and let down my guard.

Winking in the cloudy distance, the Empire State Building sends its sparkling spire into the heavens, where it illuminates the misty air like a halo around its head. An empty office building across the way glows warmly against the cool shades of the fallen night. I hope that it’s empty, at least for the sake of any denizens otherwise exposed to my post-shower full-frontal display. I never like showing off to the uninvited, and such a stance is more often than not returned.

On this evening, with the quiet glow of a television set behind me, I am mostly in silhouette, and if anyone cares to trouble themselves with peeping from below, well, let them have at it. This is no place for the embarrassed or shy. A conundrum and contradiction perhaps, and if you’ve been coming here for a while you know the routine.

A New York night carries many mysteries, and even more possibilities.

As I exit the Standard and walk to meet Chris, that moment of sadness that always washes over me whenever I’m in New York arrives. The first flush of night has deepened the already-gray day, and I pass groups of girls smoking and unsteadily wobbling about in their high heels, and suddenly this despondent view of life lands me in a brief depression. It is the ‘sinking humanity feeling’ I get when I visit this city. I try to focus on the sweet woman who did her best to guide a lost tourist on the subway earlier in the day. I think of the care and concern in her dark eyes, and the way she did her best to explain where we were, all in her light accent. It reminded me of all the good that was in the city, and in the world. Now, I struggled to hold onto that feeling but it was slipping away. I leaned against a sign post and pulled my coat a little tighter across my chest, crossing my arms in defensive fashion. A plastic bag pushed by the wind flew across the street, almost in slow-motion. Caught in the wake of a turning taxi, it eventually flutters to a stop. There are ghosts even in the midst of all these people. Strange, lonely beauty too.

I spot Chris across the street and my melancholy passes. We walk down the stairs to a new restaurant, Megu, where we have a dinner cocktail. A blood red Negroni greets my lips, and the distinctive texture of velvet brushes my hand – either from the chair or the rope-wound handrail that led us downstairs. More smiling faces of greeters and hosts and bartenders, and all of them mere masks. I’d rather talk to my friend than meet new people, but Chris has always been more social in that respect. Even when we are together, we are always alone. I’m ok with that solitude; I think it makes Chris panic.

We head over to the McKittrick Hotel, where our ‘Sleep No More’ adventures will take place. The dashing and debonair Colin takes care of us, and we sip our pre-show cocktails while an enchanting atmosphere takes hold. The darkness that fleetingly frightened me earlier on the street has evolved into something thrilling, and as the show takes us into its surreal world, and the clock strikes midnight, I’m walking through spooky rooms that seem conjured from nightmares and dreams. There’s a graveyard on one floor, a maze of a forest on another, and scenes bathed in blood and lust, all leading to their grandly gruesome climax.

Reconvening in the bright lights of a nearby diner, we eat fries, and Chris orders a strawberry shake. It’s a 3 AM scene we’ve played out a number of times, and every time we wonder if it will be our last.

I hope not.

Not yet.

The next day I’m heading back up the Hudson River. Despite a woman talking loudly on her cel phone (which takes two dirty looks to quell) I am able to fall into another troubled sleep. ‘The Perfume Lover’ rests on my chest, a lone comfort I hug closer to myself, as if a friend might be found in a book, and there’s no reason to believe he or she can’t. When I awake, we are still an hour from Albany, but closer to the end of the day. The sun finally emerges, shining brilliantly for one brief moment, tearing across the river and lighting up the surrounding foliage, only to say goodnight and cloak herself in clouds and mystery by the time we arrive.

You can find all the stock photos of Washington you want online, so there’s no need for me to bring you more of the White House or the Capitol Building or any number of monuments. I prefer to see the hidden delights that DC shrouds in the folds of its statuesque arms. As we take leave of our Capitol City for now, here’s a look at some lesser-seen treasures.

One of the only major monuments that I hadn’t seen, despite myriad visits to Washington, was the Lincoln Memorial. This time that was my only charted goal, and on a sunny but pleasantly-not-too-warm day, I walked all the way from my hotel to visit Mr. Lincoln. The path took me through George Washington University, where signs were welcoming the incoming class home. I looked upon such things with amusement for myself, and a tinge of empathy for those just starting their college careers.

As I neared the monument, I was once again struck by the foresight and planning that the designers had when laying out the entire National Mall, as well as the size and scope of it all. These are impressive works, and every American should visit at least once.

It’s both inspiring and depressing to contrast the work of previous Presidents to certain candidates attempting to disgrace the office today. When you think about what this country means to the world, and especially to those of us lucky enough to live here, it’s unfathomable that a clown like Donald Trump has come this close to entering such hallowed ground. I pray he doesn’t succeed.

But rather than get bogged down in the current political state of affairs, I preferred to look at the glory of the past. The sun was warming my walk as the day advanced, and the area around the Washington Monument is exposed. I did my best to stay to the shade afforded by trees, but when I saw signs for the waterfront, I remembered a stay at the Mandarin a few years ago, and figured it was the perfect midway stopping point for a refreshment.

Much has been made of my adoration of a hotel lounge, and this was one perfect instance which exemplified that fondness. The Empress Lounge is an elegant stretch of space with refined furniture and impeccable Mandarin service (even if I was asked not to occupy a table that had been set for afternoon tea, when there was literally not a single other person in the place, nor would there be for the duration of my stop.) No matter, I found another seat that was not expecting invisible company and settled in for a Mandarin Dream.

Outside of the sky-high windows, a pretty courtyard meandered to a perch overlooking the Potomac. In spring, cherry blossoms would blanket the area in soft pink, but at this late stage of the season things were a deep green, accented by the fiery blooms of a crape myrtle here and there. The Mandarin Dream is a refreshing mix of vodka, pomegranate juice, and pear nectar – not too strong, and served with a decadent cherry – perfect for a fine summer afternoon.

There was one more stop to make before dinner, and I knew it would be a place of peace, even if I’d never been there yet…

You may be wondering if this is even my blog anymore, based on the title of this post and the relatively family-friendly fare of late. If one set out to deliberately arrange a morning scenario that put me entirely out of my comfort zone, it could not have been executed better than this one, in which I accompany my pal Chris to brunch and a visit to a dog park.

We began with a ride in a Fiat filled with two adults, one child, and an excitable dog. Yes folks, a Fiat. So dog and baby were all but in my lap, and we could not make it to the brunch venue fast enough. I tried not to breathe in the dog hair, as an allergy attack was not on my agenda, and I did my best to keep the baby suitably entertained (and was surprisingly successful as he repeated my name for the duration of the ride).

We rolled into Tico and I made apologies to the server for whatever was about to happen, but brunch passed in remarkably smooth fashion (the wonders that a kid can find in opening and distributing the contents of several packs of sugar), and before I knew it we were on our way to a dog park. Read that again and think about it: a dog park.

I wasn’t really paying much attention to the dogs, until one started to take a dump right in the middle of the pack, the results of which were promptly sniffed out and even licked by some of the ragamuffin mutts there. I gave a disdainful look to all who were present, and was about to scream whether anyone was responsible for this shitting dog, before asking Chris, who was fussing over some plastic bags, who the owner was. Turned out it was him. Like I can tell dogs apart from one another.

Thankfully such a scene didn’t last long, as I needed to get back to the hotel for a nap. Getting up at 4:45 in the morning to make an early flight takes its toll. The Topaz greeted me with my choice of queens, and I gratefully settled into one before dinner.

After a brief break afforded by a perfectly-lovely summer season by the pool, The Delusional Grandeur Tour was back in travel status with recent trips to Rehoboth Beach, Washington, DC, and this weekend in Boston, MA. On this blog, the DC postings begin today, as I give you a piece of the sky en route to our fine Capitol city (and the jacket I wore upon entry).

It’s been a while since I’ve flown – at least a few months – which is all sorts of wrong, as it’s one of my favorite things to do. Stepping back into the familiar, if dilapidated, air of Albany Airport, I eased back into travel mode, and the delicious state of absolute anonymity. Albany is a small town, and it’s much easier to get lost somewhere like Washington. I looked forward to that as much as I looked forward to seeing a friend.

The Topaz Hotel was the Kimpton property of choice this time around, and they offered a wonderful home base and the signature stellar service that sets them apart from most hotels these days. A hotel is a happy slice of heaven, especially when it’s as fine and spacious as the Topaz.

Greeted by a gentleman at the front desk who was amused by my “I am wicked early” comment (he asked if I was from Massachusetts because no one else said “wicked” anymore) I was able to get into my room a bit earlier than check-in, which is always a boon after a flight, no matter how short.

I texted Chris and let him know I was already in town, so he picked me up for brunch with his son, and their dog. A visit filled with new experiences had begun…

In the rearview mirror of our summer, Rehoboth Beach gets smaller and smaller as we return to upstate New York. Not quite ready to let go of the sand and the sun and the summer itself, I relish each moment of our ride home, trying to bring a bit of the sea home with us. Already, I miss it and the calming effect it has on us. The ritual of putting on sunblock, of packing books and iced tea and towels, of leaving the phone and the wallet and the worldly cares in the hotel room as we walk to the sandy shore – these are the little traditions we set up and practiced daily, and we fell into them as joyfully as we did quickly. The instant ease of a vacation – it’s a good thing.

The trick is how to keep this feeling of freedom, how to capture the ephemeral magic of such a moment. Sometimes I think that as soon as you attempt to do so, you lose it. Instead, I’ll hold it loosely in my heart, uncaged and free, and ever-ready to remind, especially when the winds of winter begin to blow.