33 years

We’ve been married longer than we were apart.  Oh my.

So here we are.  Enjoying a couple of days in one of our favourite cities (I know, there are a few!)  A slight delay on our flight and a long queue at immigration meant that the afternoon was cut a little short, so we simply headed out to do what we love to do here:

Eat.

Union Square Cafe has never failed to delight and this was no exception!  My hero’s Black Sea Bass with chiccerones, bacon and ramp mash was excellent, he told me, and I’m afraid I’d eaten my roast duck and black rice before I thought to take a picture! 

33 years ago, we were spending our wedding night in the Durham Post House Hotel, watching the episode of Dallas and hoping to learn who shot JR.  Priorities, eh?

Doing their job

We’re home.  It was a good flight and we both slept well but it’s good to be back, for sure.

As soon as I spotted the combination lock on my suitcase set to 000 I knew that it had been inspected by the security people.  Sure enough, inside was their little billet-doux.

I can’t imagine why they choose my suitcase to open and inspect, can you?  I wonder what they think ;-)

Pinewoods and Seashores

One last day here with a great weather forecast – how to use it to best advantage?  We’d thought of heading out to the Jersey Shore, but were a little wary.  After all, we didn’t want to rubberneck on the aftermath of Sandy and we weren’t too sure which particular areas were out of action still.  We chanced upon some local knowledge in the lift up to the top of City Hall, however, because our companions there knew exactly what’s what.  Their recommendation was clear – head for Cape May and lunch at the Blue Pig.

We needed no further persuasion.

We packed our bags and checked out early, hoping to miss the worst of the traffic, though well aware that our flight wasn’t till 10pm and we had a whole day at our disposal.  Over the bridge into New Jersey, then, with plans to combine two of the suggested routes in our book.

Heading east, we could explore a little of the Pine Barrens, summarised nicely as “Ghost Towns and Cranberry Bogs”, then turn south and head for “Victoriana by the Sea” towards lunchtime.  Sounded like a very good plan.

The roads through the pines were empty and pretty featureless – except for the pines, of course.  From time to time, we passed a shooting party and I think we passed a correctional facility (aka prison), but otherwise, there was just the odd home amongst the trees.  We both felt that we’d find it creepy to live way out here, in the middle of nowhere, and the thought of a preponderance of guns around and about wouldn’t necessarily ease the mind, either.  But as always, it’s interesting to see a different landscape and to imagine what life would be like here even if it wouldn’t seem to be our cup of tea.

Before long, we checked the “cranberry bog” off the agenda.  A huge Ocean Spray processing plant was there amongst the fields and the smaller, pale coloured buildings were dotted across a large pinkish coloured open space.

We soon spotted the ghost town too, and pulled into the visitor centre car park feeling ready to stretch our legs.  Batsto village had been the centre for processing “bog ore”, we read, but apart from that, we knew nothing.

But three members of delightfully friendly State Park staff awaited our arrival and sprang to get things started for us – including a short film about Batsto and its history.  We had the whole place to ourselves and enjoyed learning a little about a place we’d never even heard of until about an hour ago.

We enjoyed a stroll around the site, making the most of the incredibly mild weather – 70F again today.  We peered inside a couple of the buildings and walked past the front door of the Mansion.

It was open….but did we dare go in?  What do you think?!

On then, along the river and past some beautiful homes with private boat docks and lavish grounds.  Not my kind of place, though.

Past a road sign for one of my friends…I wonder what business she has here?

But I was concentrating.  With a map and guidebook on my knee, my camera in my hand too, I noticed that my feet were in a puddle of water – drips were coming from somewhere way back under the dashboard, probably condensation or something from the air conditioning unit?  Who knows?  Nevertheless, just one more thing to keep an eye on.

Anyway, we were heading for Cape May, way down there on the tip of the peninsula, and the satnav estimated our arrival at 12.30.  Perfect.  I was getting hungry.

Sure enough, we arrived in perfect time for lunch.  The Blue Pig was the tavern in the grand old Congress Hall hotel and we headed straight for it – thinking we’d look around later.

Haddock and Chips were delicious and hit the spot.  We chatted to the staff and learned a little about the place as well as admiring the ambiance.  Great recommendation – how sorry we were that we failed to get the names of the people who recommended it, so that we could thank them.

Certainly no attention needed to be directed since everything met our requirements perfectly!

A brisk walk along the seafront is the perfect way to recover from a fish and chip lunch, so off we went, enjoying the fresh air and admiring the fine Victorian villas along the road.

Very highly coloured, but seaside places suit such decor, don’t they?  Though the town was empty this lunchtime, we imagine it to be a bustling place in the summer and were pleased to be able to see it just like this – sleepy in the sunshine.

Some of the houses were tastefully decorated for Christmas and as we drove along the seashore to make our way back through the other coastal towns we enjoyed gawping at the huge homes along the water side

Each small town had its own character – Cape May was Victoriana through and through.

Whereas Wildwoods had a distinct 50s vibe going on, with motels with names like “Coconut Cove” and “Paradise Ocean”.

Out of season, it was hard to imagine what a buzz there must be in the summer!

Driving along towards Stone Harbor and Avalon was the first time we noticed anything amiss, though.  But suddenly, the road was closed and we could go no further.  Whether this was as a result of ordinary, everyday road construction or whether all that sand had come from the ocean, who knows.  The young man in the Blue Pig had told us how Cape May has escaped damage from Sandy, but that just ten miles up the road, there had been considerable damage. 

Whatever.  We decided to call it a day and to head inland, back towards the city and eventually, the airport.

One more bridge over onto the mainland again and we were on our way.  Time for me to concentrate again, to keep my feet dry and to think about going home.  We’ve had a great time here, have filled four days with such a huge range of activity and can add another corner of this vast country to our list.

Oh, just one more thing.  On Saturday morning, whilst buying something in the drugstore opposite the hotel, we spotted this magazine.  Hah, we said.  Poor woman.  How many times must she have to read such things?  But we supposed, at some point or other, one of them will be correct…

History and Culture

There’s always a place for some, don’t you think? 

We’d worked out a pretty foolproof schedule for our time here but someone put a spanner in the works and sold all the tickets to the Barnes Foundation for Tuesday, so we needed to do a quick rethink.  Thankfully, my Hero was of clear and decisive mind this morning, so having grabbed a hot drink each from the lobby, we were straight out this morning and to City Hall, to book ourselves on a tour of the place around lunchtime.  We’d snagged tickets for the Barnes Collection for 3pm, so the day was shaping up nicely.

The sky was a brilliant blue on this, the first normal working day we’ve been here, and we joined the office workers in their rapid walks down Market Street, thinking that we could probably manage a couple of hours in the heritage area around Independence Hall before the City Hall Tour.

It was about half an hours walk, but hey, it was sunny and the air was good, we’re young and reasonably fit…

Arriving at the visitor center, we added Chuck to our list of incredibly helpful and friendly National Park Rangers.  Not only did he give us the benefit of his wisdom as far as planning effective use of our morning, he found us places on the 10am guided tour of Independence Hall and equipped us with maps and everything we needed to know to get there.  What a star.

We were a relatively small group touring the building at this time of a Monday morning and had the benefit of another great Ranger to tell us all about the place.

 

Independence Hall was where the Declaration of Independence was debated and signed in 1776.  Ranger Palmer Forbes explained the background clearly enough for us foreigners to understand and put the events into context, bringing the place to life with his stories and profiles of the people involved.

The rooms inside the building were nicely staged, though little of the furniture and none of the artefacts were original.  Nevertheless, they lent a realistic feel to the story and the whole place was very attractively presented.

George Washington’s chair was original however, and although it was alone in that distinction, the other chairs had been sourced and the artefacts arranged to reflect the men who were there.

Benjamin Franklin’s chair, for example, just left of centre, front row.

On then, to view the Liberty Bell – which has a crack in it but doesn’t really have legs, whatever this photograph might suggest!

Then, the final thing to do here, as in all National Parks – stamp my notebook with the date stamp.  Mind you, there was quite a collection here and it was quite an operation!

Anyway, book duly stamped, we made our way back down Chestnut Street, thinking it’d be a good opportunity to nip into Dick Blick’s to pick up the lino cutting blades I didn’t buy on Saturday.  They’d got discounts on Silhouette spares too, so I gathered a few of those as well, before continuing to the meeting point for our tour of City Hall.   Some people we’d spoken to yesterday had really rated this experience and so we were pretty keen.

The building itself is magnificent and our guide – whose name neither of us caught, sadly – was enthusiastic, informative and entertaining.  He kept a lively pace throughout and crammed so much into the hour and a half we were with him that we left feeling somewhat breathless.

We saw beautifully designed staircases

lavish ceilings with huge chandeliers

I was able to take my traditional “seal” photograph, too.

But the best was yet to come.  After a few flights of stairs, a couple of escalators and a lift, we found ourselves in a waiting area.  Only four people at a  time could board the smallest lift to the top of the tower and guess who was in the first group?

Oh my. On such a beautifully clear day, the views were super.  We could see miles in all directions and since the other couple who’d come up with us were relatively local, they were able to point out a few landmarks.

We could identify the major streets ourselves, stretching out into the suburbs. Broad Street, Market Street and the Benjamin Franklin Parkway were all easily identifiable from here, as were the bridges and a couple of the ships which are docked here.

But the best thing was looking up!  There he was, William Penn, standing right there almost on our shoudlers.  How cool is that?  He’s way larger than life of course, and one of the guides had said that this particular statue isn’t much like him at all – he was a portly-petite, plainly dressed Quaker and this chap is tall, slim and dressed up with sufficient ruffles and frills to embarrass a man of his faith, but hey, that didn’t matter.  We’d seen him from way down there on the street and here we were, standing just at his feet.

We were viewing him through a glass window, though and I guess this panel was #3.  A pity they didn’t clean that off first, isn’t it?  Builders, eh?

Once down at the bottom again, we looked up, to see where we had been and sure enough, there was the small viewing platform where presumably, four of our group were still – though we had beaten a hasty retreat to make our way down the boulevard towards The Barnes Foundation.  We had a 3pm slot and the time was marching on.

But oh my goodness, were our feet beginning to complain!  Those light and youthful steps of this morning, as we stepped out towards the Independence Center were a mere memory!

It didn’t look too far on the map, but after a few hours walking, it seemed much futher.  Still, once it came into view, we felt better!

This new home for an established collection looked rather ordinary from the front, but once around the side and approaching the entrance, we were very taken by the peaceful reflecting pools and the calm pathway.

Sadly, no photographs inside, but plenty to report and to reflect upon, so I’ll simply leave it here for now, suggest you take a look at the website, maybe download the app and I’ll return with my impressions in a while.

Suffice to say, I would need a week to do it justice!

For now, though, I’m going to put my feet up and think cool – the temperature soared to 71F this afternoon, which for a December day is pretty remarkable.  

After a good night’s sleep

We were ready to go again.  We were actually ready to go from the minute my Hero’s bank decided to phone him at 6am to check an unusual transaction on one of his cards.  Thankfully, it was all legitimate and no further action was needed, but it was a sudden wake up call all the same.

So we set off through rather empty streets of Philadelphia on this Sunday morning, negotiating those tramlines and an assortment of potholes which rival those at home in terms of size and frequency.  We both remarked on the huge churches we passed by, of all denominations, and the communities around them – schools and seminaries in some cases.  The raggle taggle streets of the urban sprawl soon gave way to smarter, more leafy suburbs and before long we were in shopping mall territory.

We’d planned to spend an hour or two this morning at the King of Prussia Mall, where I could look in a couple of favourite shops and get one or two items on my shopping list.  As soon as we entered the open space of the Mall itself, there was Santa – and the inevitable queue of parents with their children, dressed up in their party clothes and Christmas finery to have their photograph taken.  This little girl was none too sure and the photographer was working hard to get her to smile – or at least look comfortable.

The Mall didn’t detain us long though I made two rather significant purchases in one of my favourite shops, which put paid to any further browsing!  We left the crowds who were now pouring into the huge car park behind and drove on into the countryside of Lancaster county.

Yes, I imagine that name does ring a bell, especially if you’ve watched one of the recent TV programmes or read one of the books about the Amish and Mennonite communities in this area.  We’d been here before a few years ago and remembered the lovely rolling hills and wide open spaces, dotted with little white farms here and there.  And of course, there are the horse drawn buggies too.

We passed several on this fast road, allowing plenty of space as we did.  Some, like these two were open to the elements and the couple well wrapped up on this chilly afternoon.  Others were little box-type carriages, filled with a family or a bunch of youngsters.

Turning onto a smaller road to reach our destination, we passed this little group walking alongside the road.  Just like at home, the two young women were huddled up against the cold, wearing no coats in spite of the temperature.

It was interesting to see life going on in these small communities; such a different life to that of our own, for sure.  We simply pass through it, unnoticed, but take away a glimpse of another world and as usual, are inspired and curious to learn more.

Our destination wasn’t far from here and before we’d arrived, we heard the unmistakeable sound of the train whistle blow.  We were headed for the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania at Strasburg, and the Strasburg Rail Road, right opposite was running a few Santa Specials this afternoon, it seemed.

We turned up at the little country station just as the train emptied.  A group of carollers were singing beautifully, Santa and one of his helpers were greeting some of the passengers and the whole scene was utterly charming.

As the rhyme on his little truck reminded us, “He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake”, which meant that several children were taking their encounter with him very seriously indeed.

We headed over the street to the Railroad Museum proper, then, for my Hero to see some of the engines he’s known about since his childhood and for me to marvel at the engineering and wonderful mechanics of it all.

I especially love all the nuts and bolts and cranks and spindles, the enormity of it all and how beautifully it fits together and works.

And of course, we both love the old photographs.  Isn’t this one great?

By now it was getting on into the afternoon and we were heading back to the city via a couple of my regular haunts.  I’d gathered a few coupons for these places, my Hero was comfortable in the car with his Kindle and so off I went in search of a few bits and pieces to delight and amuse.

I don’t think I was the only one in town with a 25% off everything coupon, though.  It really looked as though a plague of locusts had gone through – if indeed locusts have a thirst for pots of embossing powder or rubber stamp pads.  Never mind, I found enough to both interest and satisfy my requirements and returned to the car with a little bag of treasure.

Repeat twice more, in JoAnns and A.C.Moore’s, each with their little set of coupons and a couple of things on my list.  As if to prove my willpower, I came out of JoAnns empty handed – but then their coupons were the least generous of them all and I could afford to be picky!

But by the time I came out of the last of the three, above, darkness had fallen.  I had a momentary panic as I couldn’t immediately remember where the car was parked.  I’d had enough – we were tired, it was dark and dreary and we were ready to return to a warm hotel and call it a day.

Thankfully, we didn’t have far to drive back and once there, just a few hundred metres to a restaurant we fancied trying.  Alma di Cuba came highly recommended, not only from our friends but also in each guide book and review site we looked at.  Suffice to say, we were not disappointed and a couple of mojitos made our choice of classic dishes rather easier.  I chose Sugarcane Tuna with coconut hearts of palm rice, pickled chayote and sugarcane-sesame vinaigrette.  My Hero went for the Lechon Asado, Crispy roasted pork, congri rice and sour orange mojo.  Both of us were delighted to have a couple of our favourite Cuban breadrolls too – Jordi, just like Calle Ocho!

So, tired but happy again after another lovely day full of fun and interesting activity.  Days like this are to be cherished.