First two days

The Grand Tour Part 1

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Wednesday May 2, 2007

 

It’s the evening of the second day of our trip and we’re sat in a grotty little motel (the Crystal City Motel) in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Crystal City, Arlington, VA, West of Washington DC, under the shadows of the Marriott, Sheraton and Hilton, just up the road from the Pentagon.  Yesterday we completed our packing and caught a taxi from New York Tower just after 11:00am.  The taxi driver reminded me of Mary’s late dad: a wizened little man with attitude, called Marvin Rabinovitz.  He didn’t recognize the address of the Budget car rental place near La Guardia airport where we were due to collect our car, but worked out how he would be able to find it from the address.  He took us up FDR Drive and across the Triboro Bridge, the first time we’d crossed it in six months.  Roosevelt Island on the way was delightfully festooned with trees in new leaf and cherry blossom.  We had good views back over Manhattan, the Chrysler Building glistening silver in the sun.

 

After asking one passer-by the way to our destination, the driver got lucky and we spotted it before him.  Then he was worried about entering because of the one way spikes designed to stop unauthorized escapes, not unauthorized entries.  Eventually he dropped us at the office and complained at the tip (I’d added $5 to the $29 on the clock, so I dug out another $20 bill and got back $10 and saw him off grumbling about all of our luggage).

 

The rental staff were ready for us and had a people carrier (or minivan as they called it), that need taking to Los Angeles, so we agreed to be “upgraded” to it and now are driving a Quebec-registered Montana SV6 around, complete with smoked glass and automatic shift on the driving column.   All our luggage fits quite well but is slightly visible, even through the dark glass, so it’s a bit of a hassle carting it all in and out.

 

Yesterday, our first challenge was to get out of New York, following the instructions of the Garmin GPS we’d hired with the car.  We told it to take us to Philadelphia but were unable to follow half the instructions at the beginning of the journey, because of misunderstanding the instructions or because the instructions used different names for junctions and roads than were displayed on the roads (eg it told us to turn off at Junction 3, which didn’t exist, so when we failed to turn off on J 4/5 it complained and told us rather crossly that it was recalculating our route (annoyingly pronounced “rout” in the modern American way).  Ultimately the revised route took us back over Tribro Bridge and down FDR Drive to 53rd St, then down 2nd Ave and along 42nd St, past the office to 9th Ave, where we undertook a hair-raising left turn across hostile traffic and right onto W39th St, where Connie (so-named after the AOL woman) thought we should take the ramp to the Lincoln Tunnel but that was cordoned off with traffic cones, so we had to loop the loop up 12th Ave and back on 40th St, where we were able to get into the tunnel.

 

After passing Newark Airport some 2 hours later it did occur to us that we should have hired the car from there, rather than Laguardia, but then we would not have had the last fleeting glimpses of New York or the chance to get caught in a couple of traffic jams – even  resisting the urge to toot the horn.

 

Unlike on my last trip into New Jersey, I didn’t get caught in the wrong lane at the other end and we safely made it onto I95 heading South, where we stopped for lunch at the Alexander Hamilton services and ate in a Roy Rogers café.  I had Chicken Caesar Salad, Mary had a plain salad with a piece of battered chicken which she enjoyed.  Culinary excellence didn’t come into consideration but a basic human need had been successfully met and on we drove, across the swamps of New Jersey and down the New Jersey Turnpike, where, of course I had to break into song, “counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike, they’ve all gone to look for America..”.  Somewhere along the line we stuck a CD in the player, which turned out to be an orphaned Vine: Splinters I, so as we crossed Delaware Memorial Bridge, we were regaled with the mellow but ever more lustful tones of Joe Penczack reciting a poem about a youthful sexual encounter.  We blinked while crossing a corner of Delaware and next we were in Pennsylvania, following Roosevelt Boulevard into Philadelphia, finally entering the city proper along a wide and winding river that, with its numerous rowing eights and row of boathouses, was reminiscent of the Thames.  After a brief trip around the main downtown thoroughfares we found a parking lot at Arch St and 15th St and phoned Tim Wilson at work (themwillows@comcast.net), whose office turned out to be only a couple of blocks away.  We wandered off to meet him, Mary taking loads of photos of buildings and scenes in JFK Plaza and then couldn’t find him.  A couple of calls later and we approached each other talking into our phones till it was obvious who we were.  We than had a very pleasant two or three hours being shown around the historic parts of Philadelphia (Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell etc) and slaked our thirst in an ancient tavern (The City Tavern) where the staff all wore period costume.  Tim and I had “George Washington’s favorite porter” while Mary had a red wine.  We chatted about families and Stormcock (www.stormcock.net), work and this and that and had could easily have carried on longer; but Tim needed to get home and we still needed to find somewhere to stay, so we headed off, leaving Tim at the subway station.  On our way we were accosted by more beggars than we would have experienced in London or New York in the same distance – very strange.

 

The parking lot attendant told us that the lot was now closed, so we had to pay the exact amount of the ticket, which fortunately we could do, and we drove out.  As we did so, he let another car in, so what that was all about I’ve no idea (a strange definition of a “closed” parking lot?).

 

With a vague intention of heading South towards Washington DC, we set off down Benjamin Franklin Boulevard, which was very impressive, decorated with flags of the world and lots of green trees.  At some stage we had to turn back and drove back past our starting point before picking up a sign to the I695 East, I think.  I didn’t think I wanted to go East but it was the only sign taking us out of the City, so we followed the signs through narrow streets until eventually we got onto it and, shortly after, back in New Jersey once more, the I295 going South.  As we drove along, we espied a garish sign for the Westwood Motor Lodge, so we left at the next junction and doubled back to it, where we were served by a miserable young Indian gentleman.  $61.60 including tax and we got what we paid for.  Seedy room, smelling of stale cigarette smoke, even though it was a non-smoking room.  We dined on microwaved meals we’d brought with us, rescued from my freezer, and a bottle of wine from the nearby Liquor Store, where the service was friendly with Southern charm.

 

Our night was reasonably comfortable, despite the room’s atmosphere, which by now we had become inured to, and we rose to another sunny day, showered in the surprisingly efficient shower and dried ourselveswith the mere napkins provided.  We breakfasted on over-sweet Danish and yoghurt and washed it down with tea and coffee.  We set off just after 10:00am with the temperature registering 69 degrees F.  As we headed south it rose rapidly and, by the time we hit Washington, it was 89.  The air-conditioning made us oblivious to that, fortunately.  We were accompanied on this drive by more Splinters and Mr Bill’s Wild Ride #29, Disk 1: “Them Strange Changes”.  Connie took us towards Pennsylvania Ave, as instructed, then Mary tried using the “find a hotel” feature and this confused the hell out of it and us as we kept “arriving at our destination” while completely unable to find anything that matched the description.  Alternatively it was obviously too expensive as it was a big name brand, right in the center of town.  Eventually we drove out on Rhode Island Ave and, when we thought we’d gone a safe distance tried again, but it advised us to do a U Turn, which I accomplished with some aplomb, narrowly avoiding a bus, and took us back into the maelstrom of traffic circulating the central streets, looking for non-existent long-term parking.  Frustration threatening to boil over, we then followed I66 out of town and pootled around Alexandria (I think) before rejoining the I395 and heading back towards Washington.  Caught in a traffic jam, we spotted a sign for Gas, Food, Lodging (excellent Green on Red album of about 20 years ago) and followed it to this little oasis, stuck in a backwater left by enormous posh developments all around it.

 

Once we’d settled in, we hit the Macy’s mall, just up the road and ate Cajun Chicken, Mary then relaxing with her book while I listened to the iPod, shuffling through various cool tracks, of which I remember nothing, except Van Morrison doing one of his country numbers – and he was being piped as muzak anyway…

 

Suitably refreshed and my good humour somewhat restored (with headache now gone), we headed back into Washington, determined to see the sights but again we could find nowhere to park, so this time we deliberately drove around in circles, giving Mary time to take lots of pictures through the windscreen, but we never did see the White House. Having looked at the map since we go back to the motel we now at least know where it is, and tomorrow is another day.

 

In the evening, we went in search of a Liquor Store to buy wine to accompany our humble repast.  Finding none, we settled instead for a Lebanese Taverna, in a pleasant square surrounded by bars and eateries of various nationalities, including one called Murali – probably not named after the Sri Lankan spinmeister but you never know…We had the meat Mezza, accompanied by a bottle of Chateau Kefraya Meritage, an excellent Lebanese blend that accompanied the scrummy food superbly.  This square was infinitely preferable to the food hall in the mall where we had eaten earlier and was now inhabited by a million schoolkids, roaming the place like so many herds of wildebeest and hyenas on the African savannah. It also made a wonderful playground for a few very young children, most of whom looked like they had only just learned to walk, who amused themselves greatly running around, chasing after each other and in one case one young lad curious enough to come close to the diners.  We are not sure who won the battle of the ball.

 

I had a couple of moments of existential angst involving my ATM card.  First I tried one of the Bank of America machines littering the mall.  I dipped my card and pressed the blob on the screen that indicated English.  Nothing happened.  I kept trying to press the English button but nothing happened.  Mary tried pressing the button but nothing happened.  Eventually it asked if I’d like more time to complete my transaction.  I said “No I just want the thing to work!” and abandoned the attempt.  Next we found the Chevy Chase Bank and I put my card in the slot and entered my PIN.  Next I selected $200 but it responded that my card wasn’t valid for that transaction.  Next I tried $100: same response.  Fearing I’d lose the card if I tried again, I abandoned this attempt too.  Echoes of Nick Harper’s song of alienation ran through my mind – title anyone?  I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a bank named after a comedian J…Tomorrow I’ll have to phone my bank and sort it out.  Then we got lost on the way back, and Connie didn’t help by getting her left and right confused but eventually we made it and opened our door to be confronted by a blast of hot air.  On with the air-conditioning and it’s now quite satisfactory.  I’ve been typing for an hour and a half and Mary has read at least 100 pages of her latest brick-like novel.  Off to bed.