#66: in pilgrims' footprints

Thanksgiving. I figured it's a gathering of family and friends. But I never found out its significance. My closest family is a 5-hour flight away; tickets prices peak then ... you get the drift. What then gave this year? Well, it's not everyday that someone invites me to her first festive cooking, I knew I would have good company, I had a new camera, "that other Cambridge" had been on my to-visit list for a while, and I had had enough of MD! The stars were all aligned.

The meal was a true feast. I did my part .... spilt the filling of the pumpkin pie in a hot oven and saw it burn up in seconds (leaving a not-so-pleasant odour all over the apartment), chipped a coffee mug in the sink – among other bloopers. My friend was remarkably patient and forgiving. I fear though, that I've burnt my bridges!

To complete the experience, we drove to Plymouth – where the Pilgrims (now I know what this is all about) landed and settled in circa 1620. A scaled replica of Mayflower, somewhere between a ship and a "supersized" boat, sails annually on a round-trip across the Atlantic. When moored, it is a museum there. All nice and dandy. The shocker was a tacky "Plymouth Rock". My friend narrates it more eloquently ....

".... my trip to Plymouth, to see where the Pilgrims landed .... you know, the place where they met the natives, befriended them and lived happily ever after (so the history books go). I also got to see THE Plymouth Rock. Much to my dismay, Plymouth Rock turned out to be, well, a rock. I'm not quite sure what I was expecting, but I was terribly disappointed with the unremarkable stone that had the etching "1620" on it".

Exactly. Her expression says it all.

Thanks Maria, for a thanksgiving worthy of its true sentiments. And for one of my most enjoyable weekends of the year.

#65: lessons from the road

Driving can be therapeutic or a chore or both; it depends on the curvature of your indifference curves. And the longer the distance – the more polarised are travellers’ perceptions.

I enjoy driving – under normal circumstances; Thanksgiving week is anything but “normal”. An estimated 31.8 million travellers were on the road that weekend. Compare this with the 5 million who flew, or the 2 million who chose the bus or rail. Everyone I spoke to before embarking on this 1000 mile round-trip asked, “Por qué? Why on earth would you do this to yourself?”. And I questioned my own wisdom. But the die had already been cast. I was resigned to do my bit to line the pockets of BP and Exxon executives. I owed them my contribution to the global economy!

Driving gives me a sense of control – tempered by the worry of sharing the roads with sharks (aka Hummers and lunatics on wheels). It's an adventure, a change of sight in each moment when not dwelling on the monotony of the highway. It gives me quality time with myself – not always possible while chasing deadlines and routines. It is also an opportunity for time-travel to my music collection on audio cassettes some 12-15 years old. What can a person do if the car does not have a CD player, a satellite radio, or the ubiquitous iPod or one of its clones? (Now that's a hint: get an iPod and/or a travelling companion who does). S&G, R.E.M., Dire Straits, and the Beatles. They evoked old memories, and some new relevance for the present day. “You say goodbye and I say hello .... I don't know why you say goodbye I say hello”. John Lennon was prophetic.

The regular route from DC to Boston is the I-95 through NYC. Bypassing Manhattan and taking the Tappan Zee Bridge was a brilliant suggestion from a AAA advisor. It saved time (at least 3-4 hours), money on tolls, and frustration. Take my word …. avoid the bridges and tunnels of NYC and you’ll be a happy camper! And if you can, get a good night's sleep at a friend's place in Princeton! Thanks Victor.

Filling up gas in New Jersey was a remarkable experience. The rates are the best along the coast, and perhaps in the country – thanks to their aversion to taxes. That’s the good part. But if you dare step out of your car to fill gas, you do so at your own risk. You will be chased by an angry mob of gas-station attendants armed with gas nozzles and menacing looks of a militia in a conflict zone. You will be cursed into submission and yelled at to hop back into the car while “they” take over. How was I to know that in NJ (and in Oregon), all gas stations are mandated full-service? I can’t imagine why …. other than local legislators figuring that their residents could not be entrusted with the rocket-science of filling gas into their own cars, or for creating employment any way they could! Well, I learnt a lesson. So if an army of angry attendants at a gas station in NJ charges you, it's not because you racially resemble the stereotypical “most mistrusted in America”. They are just earning a living; no discrimination there!