Beautiful weather at last, the wind and cold is gone, the sun and blue sky remained. Perfect day to be a tourist in this, America’s first capital city. The Brits were particularly keen on visiting the attractions commemorating their country’s historic loss of territory and so we went to the well-done museum of the American Revolution, which has lots of mini-films with re-enactments of battles and other significant moments and hands on stuff for kids.
Frieda’s
Lunch was light, delicious and convenient at Frieda’s (thank you to our favorite Philly public school teacher for that recommendation.) good salads, sandwiches, pastries and rugalach in bright cheerful space. onto independence hall where we missed our timed entrance ny five minutes and fortunately got on a later tour. (Tix were sold out for the day by 3 pm.) The guide was excellent.
The bell
Very dramatic presentation and pretty cool to see the room where it happened with George Washington and Ben Franklin et. al. Across the street we caught the liberty bell in a rare tourist-free moment where we had it all to ourselves..dinner was in south Philly, Italian of course, a red sauce (actually “rose” or creamy red sauce place) called Pesto where our server talked the teacher from south Philly on Abbott Elementary.
Somehow this post didn’t land on my blog site so reposting it for posterity!
March 12
It’s not everyday that you get to vacation with three of your closest friends who live far away and far from each other but here we are in Philly. How great is that?!
We’re staying in a very old red brick row on a narrow one-block lane in center city, mid-1800s we think. Charming, centrally located Airbnb. With narrow planked wood floors, a tight twisting, low ceiling wood staircase, small pretty rooms, a tiny back yard with a flowering tree of some unknown sort with pink blossoms.
A 25 minute walk in a blustery cold and blindingly bright sunny morning took us through graceful old Rittenhouse Square to the fantastic Barnes Foundation. Fascinating place. I feel like returning today.
The museum is in a very contemporary building with a Japanese feel. The art is uniquely displayed, as prescribed by the original collector. Each room has a mishmash of work carefully arranged (Renoir, cezanne, Monet, among the heavy hitters and lots of unfamiliar names and some no name folk art plus textiles, African sculptures, a micro rug…) symmetry and all, plus interesting metal utilitarian objects that when hung on the wall call attention to their decorative features. Old Pennsylvania Dutch hand painted chests and other antiques are also displayed in each room, just so.
It may sound precious but it’s more ingenious and mysterious. After awhile I gave up trying to see everything or trying to figure out the thinking behind the odd juxtapositions and just let my eye wander to whatever caught my eye. Literally. Apparently I am a Rousseau and Modigliani fan. And folk art, which is no surprise.
To each their own. Myra’s eye for example was caught by completely different work. It was fun to watch docents and teachers in action with young school kids. Oh and there are no informational labels. You can take a photo of a work on your cellphone and a description will pop up. The app also lets you keep a record of the work that most grabbed you. Cool!
Lunch was at very busy Reading terminal food hall. Tons of stalls and a bit overwhelming at first but a great local scene. We planted ourselves at a central food cart table and took turns foraging. The beef brisket sandwich was even better than the sliced pork with broccolini sandwich that was recommended to me by a local. Excellent German sweet chocolate cake.
Dinner was at Kalaya, a lively fun scene-y place in fishtown that is well regarded nationally. I found the Thai food a bit too complicated (and pricey.) I should have learned by now that the NYTimes annual list of innovative American restaurants plucked is not always a sure thing.
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There was rain and mist in the mountains as we left our unlovely motel and drove further north and east, stopping for coffee in what turned out to be the interesting city of Wilkes-Barre. It reminded me a little of Easton, my mom’s hometown with old redbrick row houses with white wood railing. But Wilkes-Barre had surprisingly grand old buildings, some banks or fraternal organizations, and two small colleges with pretty old buildings. A bridge over the river with eagle sculptured pediments, worthy of Europe. A memorial to fallen coal miners. Seemed a faded, once mighty industrial city on the rebound.
The most spectacular and unexpected building was a mosque with four minerets that could have been in Istanbul. Apparently it was a Shriners temple, built in the early 1900s. Abandoned, with some busted windows but perhaps slated for restoration.
Wilkes-Barre
We found good coffee and pastries at Abide, which welcomed Millie, our dog, inside. Another nearby coffeehouse, Pour, looked like a good option too.
Confirming Pennsylvania’s swing state status in the upcoming presidential election, we saw a Harris Walz sign near the Jewish center of King’s College and a nasty “ F—k Biden” sign in the window of a faded apartment building. Another window in the building had a “Catholics for Trump” sign.
The sky began to clear as we drove though the Poconos to the Hudson River, crossing into Poughkeepsie, enough so we could sit outside at the Palace diner, old school with shiny aluminum siding, and eat brunch while passing customers made a fuss over Millie. We had one mishap. Millie balked at climbing the metal grated steps leading up to the dramatic walkway over the Hudson, fashioned from a former rail bridge. We found a hill she could walk up to get on the bridge and walked about half the bridge span, soaking in the spectacular river views, and then took the handy elevator down and walked uphill the to our car.
As a kid driving from suburban Detroit to eastern Pennsylvania with my mom, I was excited when we first crossed the Ohio border into western Pennsylvania, only to soon discover (or remember) how long Pennsylvania is. Still, as we drive on I-80 today, decades later, I’m happy to leave the flat straight Ohio turnpike behind, in favor of a mountainous stretch of I-80 lined with trees (although preferably not driven in the rain).
Great dog-Friendly find
Unlike Iowa I-80 rest stops which have many appealing amenities (trust me), the Ohio turnpike rest-stop west of Cleveland offered no picnic tables or outdoor spaces to eat our picnic fare, let alone with a dog. Grrr. So we ended up taking a brief detour to the small town of Milan, west of Cleveland, which we learned is the home of Thomas Edison. We didn’t see his house, that we know of, but we saw many stately wood Victorian and 19th century red brick homes.
The town was packed with people attending the annual Milan Melon Days (as the street banner we drove under informed us). We found a public park with many picnic tables under a shelter, old playground equipment, and a pleasant view of a grassy slope lined with willow and pine trees. Worked.
Why does it always rain on highway 80 along the scenic but scary stretch through the mountains of western Pennsylvania? At least this trip, the rain was intermittent and Dirck was driving. (I had a much scarier ride years ago while driving solo with the kids in a downpour. Lots of trucks, curving road.)
We got lucky with a terrific dog-friendly pub (thanks Bringfido.com) m, the West End Ale Haus, in the small town of Bloomsburg, where we showed up just before the kitchen closed at 9 p.m. The server couldn’t have been nicer and the cheese burgers were perfect. We were the only diners outside on a Saturday night, with the occasional souped -up car dragging Main Street. Millie enjoyed her strawberry Greek yoghurt frozen treat.
Now we are at a somewhat grim but dog- friendly red roof inn a few miles east (Bloomsburg-Mifflinville).The woman at the front desk looked miserable and when I asked how she was doing, she said she had a headache and no Tylenol so I fished some ibuprofen out of the glove compartment for her.
No breakfast so I won’t get my on-the-road Raisin Bran fix. No carpet in our spacious but spartan room, disabled accessible, which was okay until about 1:45 am when people arrived above us in what I’m guessing was also an uncarpeted room. They sounded like a bunch of elephants dragging roller bags and rearranging the furniture for hours. Who needs sleep?
I can perhaps be forgiven for humming the theme from Gilligan’s Island as we walked along the dock, returning safely to our sweet Branford abode. The old friends from Iowa set off on a one-two hour tour around the scenic Thimble Islands in the Long Island Sound, when the weather did not start getting rough but our small motor boat hit a hidden rock way out in the water. We kept going without incident, enjoying the scenery, the houses improbably perched on narrow slabs of rock and forest, until we got near the shore and our dock.
The motor crapped out.
We started drifting until it was wisely decided to drop anchor. Then we had about an hour to figure out a rescue plan before I needed to drive to Tweed airport in New Haven to catch my flight back to Chicago. A Sea Tow service couldn’t get there fast enough.
The rescue
Just when I began seriously contemplating swimming sans proper swimsuit to shore (about a 15 minute swim…), neighbors Max Roberts and Jeff Hoyt came to the rescue, towing our boat with their’s. We quickly made it to shore, I did final packing, Nell made me a delicious sandwich, and we added another tale to tell about our storied friendship. And here I am blogging on the planehome, thankful for good friends and good neighbors too.
We had a classic Connecticut gals day, driving around the winding backroads of Yankee shore towns north of New Haven, past historic homes and graveyards, pretty village greens and toney shops. In Madison, we duly visited the fantastic independent bookstore RJ Julia’s , with other stops at clothing/home decor/gift shops and a good Mexican meal atComomango., which has a beach/surfer vibe and good bowls no small tacos.
Dinner was at The Place (since 1971), which reminded me of a fish boil in Door County, Wisconsin except this was a seafood grill in Branford, Connecticut, with guys tending fires and cooking lobster, clams, mussels, salmon, and corn on the cob. We sat under a big red and white circus tent at round tables with tree stumps for chairs (we went with the green plastic chairs with backs). Nell wisely thought to bring basics like a table cloth and less flimsy paper plates. I had clams with bbq sauce, corn, and a hot fudge sundae.
Nell, Laurie and I took a walk in the mist under grey sky though the lovely seaside village of Stoney Creek, past the dock for the ferry to the Thimble Islands that I took years ago when our kids were very little with our Trumbull pals! Stoney Creek has beautiful homes on the water facing a winding two- Lane road.
After picking our friend Holley up at Hartford airport, we had a late lunch at a good Italian place in Middletown called Luce. Hartford airport is way bigger than New Haven’s Tweed which I flew into on Avelo airlines.
It was great flying to New Haven, only 20 minutes from Branford. But note to self: buy seat in future. I had the worst seat – last row, aisle. There were two very large people in my row so I had to shift in my seat to face the aisle and occasionally free my left arm from under my neighbors’s arm. Then no service or drinks, even water without requesting. And people lining up for the bathroom just behind us.
Glorious day biking, kayaking, hanging out with old friends from Des Moines and Ithaca. I’ve loved Connecticut since my mid-20s when I worked briefly at the Stamford Advocate (newspaper) in the mid-1980s. (I couldn’t afford to stay, professionally or financially.)
On a muggy morning, we biked around Pawson Park, a pretty, narrow peninsula between the Branford River and Long Island Sound, with the Thimble islands in the distance, with red cedar shingled cottages and bright purple hydrangeas in the foreground. Later, we kayaked in the still water, past large shoreline homes, large rocks in the water, the occasional motorboat, the occasional barge in the distant haze.
Dinner tonight was BLTs from The Shanty, a food truck, eaten overlooking the Sound and The Thimbles at the graceful OwenegoBeach club, circa 1847, a lovely sprawling, white wooden building, with a lush green lawn leading down to gardens and a swimming area with white rafts in the seawater. It’s a refreshingly unpretentious and welcoming for a private club. Nonmembers welcome after 5 pm and the Inn offers sweet, affordable rooms for a short stay. see: https://www.google.com/gasearch?q=owenego&source=sh/x/gs/m2/5)
And then came summer. Or close. In the three days we’ve been here the temperature went from blustery 40s to balmy 70s. Today was perfect for a lot of walking south to the Italian market which is actually several blocks along 9th street lined with old food shops and fruit markets.
Italian market
We visited several including diBruno Brothers house of cheese, whose large selection spanned cheese from Francine and Russ’s London (Neal’s yard) to Myra’s beloved finger lakes (Cayuga blue cheese from Lively Run creamery near Seneca Lake.)
Cheesesteak
We had gooey chewy meaty Philly cheese steaks at Angelo’s. I could eat only half of mine, which in of itself was enormous. We ate outside at a picnic table in an open lot provided by Di Bruno brothers.
Bok building view
The Bok building is an enormous former technical high school, art deco, turned into makers and artists studios and some shops, pricey sandals make out of old Kilims. That sort of thing. There’s a club at the top with an amazing deck overlooking the city. Dinner was Filipino at Tabachoy, which we all decided was a little too odd for our tastes. It makes me question again the NYTimes annual list of innovative restaurants. Maybe a little too innovative for my tastes.
breakfast on out last morning was at the lovely Parc, which resembles a French bistro, overlooking Rittenhouse Square. our London pals checked into the Alexander Inn, an old world, well-located place that was a reasonable $165. Next trip:Washington Square. Elspeth place, walk along the river, old prison. But as is, we feel like we got a good feel for this historic old city that is my grandfathers hometown.
We are staying at a great Airbnb on Otis and Holmead in Columbia Heights a few streets north of where Noah lived for several years. The neighborhood is still slowly gentrifying – our snazzy airbnb is one sign, an old brick storefront (we’re guessing) that is now a vertical townhouse with blond wood floors and contemporary furniture and a spacious rooftop deck where I’m lounging on a couch.
The Londoners…and Chicagoan
Dinner was nearby at Trip Khao, a Laotian restaurant. very good. Today Francine and I took the bus to near DuPont circle and the weather was so lovely that we got sandwiches at Call your mother deli and sat in Adirondack chairs around the fountain. perfect dining Al fresco spot.
Going girly
Francine and I got our pre wedding manicure at allure Nails, I lost it briefly at the rehearsal, had excellent pork asada for rehearsal dinner at Mi Cuba and drinks/roast by the couple’s friends at The coupe, where the mashup of people from various chapters of Noah’s life (and mine) was a dizzying treat.
My baby boy is getting married.
We returned to the coupe on a rainy Saturday for brunch and the place was packed. Nice upscale independent market Odd Provisions a few blocks south on 11th for a baguette. The wedding was at the Josephine Butler House, pretty old mansion and worked well for lovely wedding. The day after brush was at the Georgetown Marriott which isn’t really in Georgetown and then a treat – post wedding lunch with the groom/ husband at the duck and the peach in Capitol Hill neighborhood.
TakeBetsywithyou 