Entertainment
Charming vs Cheap
Early colonists left formidable footprints in New England’s small towns. The winding roads, the mix of Victorian, Tudor, and Cape houses all on one block. The streets lined with lanterns, the town squares with benches under big trees. And my favorite, the handmade wooden signs on mom-and-pop storefronts. The local cafe, with its owner and baker unlocking the doors every morning at 4, to start baking fresh muffins and bread. The hardware store, where the owner knows exactly how to help you. The bar where, dare I use the cliche, everybody knows your name. Store fronts are all different, but share an authenticity that can only come from repeated cylces of weather-wear and hand repair.
New England is charm, defined.
Moving to Georgia, I discovered a world where groceries don’t break the bank, home furnishings and kitchen wares can be scooped up within the barest of budgets, and filling my gas tank doesn’t mean draining my wallet.
There’s a price to pay for paying low prices.
There’s no personality. I’m missing the local Royal Pastry shop, where the owner knows I’ve been coming in for her giant M&M cookies since I was four years old. The Brewed Awakenings cafe, where the owner pours my cup himself, and he knows to put soymilk in it. The bar where I say nothing but “Hello!” and my preferred beverage is mixed, shaken, and placed on the bar, before I’ve even removed my coat. The bank tellers all know my name, and so I’m never ID’d. The pharmacy cashier frequents the same bar, and so we chat while she rings up my purchases. The dentist heard I lost my job, and he knocked $50 off my x-rays. That’s small town at its best.
Here in Atlanta, sure I can get cheap paper goods in bulk at Target, but the owner of the convenience store I used back in Boston was my neighbor. The big, national bank I use here (the only bank in reasonable distance from my home) must card me every time I come. They serve many people, covering a large area, and they have countless employees. Surely, no one could remember the face the 100th person today to make a deposit. As I drive to visit my new friends here, I pass one Target, Home Depot, or Waffle House after another. I cannot count the chain restaurants here. A stone’s throw in any direction will hit a Burger King, Arby’s, Taco Bell, etc. I’d never been in a Taco Bell before, and I’d never even seen an Arby’s. There’s no Walmart where I come from, and I like it that way. Here in the land of corporate take-overs, there’s a national chain for every product or service you might need. But no local charm. No knowledgeable handy-man working the plumbing aisle of the hardware store that bears his own family name. No one knows the ingredients in the goods sold at the bakery, because no one who works there makes them. Even the restaurants and bars that masquerade as independents, are actually part of a conglomerate that brands its locations as single units.
In tough economic times (rapidly becoming an overused phrase) saving money is great. Losing personality, charm, authenticity, and connections to our brave ancestors is not. Can we have the best of both worlds? Maybe 2010 will tell. In the meantime, I continue to question the word home. This is my new home, but home will always be New England. Next time I’m there, a stroll through the North End, a drive through scenic Lexington and Concord, a trek up to New Hampshire, and a visit to Royal Pastry for an M&M cookie, will reassure me that handmade and personal is always worth the price.
Absence will make the Pats fan fonder…
Ouch. I’ve been so psyched to move down to Atlanta. I have only 4 weeks left in Boston. Amid the headaches of moving a car and furniture, changing insurance and bank accounts, and planning the 18-hour drive, I hadn’t realized something far more daunting than moving my whole life 1100 miles was creeping up behind me. Football season rapidly approaches. News and gossip about the upcoming season are taking up more and more air time on ESPN and eating up more pages of the latest Sports Illustrated(which arrived on my doorstep, even though no one in my home subscribes, hmm). All due respect to the Atlanta Falcons, I’m a Patriots fan. I was born and raised here, and despite having a New York-born father, who is a diehard Giants fan, I’m New England all the way. Even without our star QB, even if we have a bad season, even if I’m in Atlanta. I find when people move to Boston, they inevitably get swept into our vivacious sports culture. They start sporting a Sox hat, they stop teasing Belichick’s sleeve style, and they embrace the wearing of the green during basketball season. New Englanders inspire loyalty and draw fans into our ever-growing network. Well, we don’t invite New Yorkers, but that goes without saying.
I cannot picture myself, after any amount of time, converting to Falcon fanship. Sorry, Georgia, Massachusetts wins this one. And, Beloved Football Season, I can’t wait to see you again!
Mt. Washington
Three times a year, the auto road to the Mt Washington Observatory opens in the wee hours to allow drivers to reach the summit in time for sunrise. This past Sunday was one of them, and despite lifelong residence in New England, it was my first time up Mt Washington. We drove up to the Lakes Region area of New Hampshire Friday night. Saturday night we tried to get in bed early. At 2am Sunday, we were on the road, snacks in hand, and loud music keeping us up. It was pitch black out, with cloud cover obfuscating stars and the moon, and very few street lights. Even on the highway, our headlights were the only light in many places, as we wound along narrow roads, through one tiny, rural town after another. The moose crossing signs grew increasingly foreboding as the miles worn on. The innocent yellow sign with a black silhouette of antlers gave way to giant orange highway department warnings. The huge boards read, “Brake for moose. It could save your life. HUNDREDS OF COLLISIONS.” Well, if that doesn’t keep your eyes pealed, I don’t know what does. As it happens, we had no elken encounters.
We reached the base of the mountain a little after 4am. It was still completely dark out, but there were other cars around. After paying our toll (which wasn’t small!) we received instructions on staying in a low gear, right of way, and a friendly reminder that those who fear heights should not proceed. Haha, really? Someone who’s afraid of heights shouldn’t go up 6,300 feet? Good to know.
As we started the winding path up, it started to get a little light around us. We could see the woods, some animals, and of course, the ever-narrowing path ahead. The miles and elevation are marked as you go. By about 3,000 feet there was a shear drop off the edge of the road. By 4,000 feet, it seemed perilous for two wide vehicles to pass each other. After about 5,000 feet, the fog was too thick to see a foot in front of the car. After 7 of 8 the miles to the top visibility was gone. It was pretty scary, because the road is narrow and drops straight down. Turning around was a little hairraising. We wanted to watch the sunrise from the very top, but with all that fog, continuing the last quarter mile only would have cost us time. We went back down to a viewing area around 5,500 feet.
Rolling down the windows gave us two unavoidable sensations. One was the whipping wind. Home to the world’s worst weather, and the fastest recorded windspeed ever on Earth, this was no small breeze. Being a lightweight, I didn’t even feel comfortable getting out of the car. The other senastion, however, was all pleasure. The moss on the rocks has the most amazing smell. I don’t know what it’s called, but it was sweet, strong, and all around us.
After a little while, we headed down to a couple more viewing spots, where we had some of the most incredible views of the mountains. It was still pretty cloudy, but Mt Washington is cloudy 60% of the time. We were able to see the sun, a piercing hot pink, amid lavender clouds and dark green, lush trees. It was beautiful and rewarding. Despite the weather and early morning, Mt Washington’s views are well worth seeing.
So, I can cross this one off my Bucket List. But will Georgia give me an adventure like this one? What can hold a candle to this? I guess I’ll have to wait and see. I’ve only been in the city and immediate area, so Atlantans, let me know what’s worth driving to in Georgia. I’ll be there in 4 weeks!
Sunrise on Mt. Washington
This Sunday is it! I’m crossing an item off my bucket list. I’ll be headed up to NH only shortly after midnight, to make it to Mt Washington’s base by 4am. It will probably be in the 40 degree range at the top, maybe colder. So with the camera charged up and very tall, hot coffee in hand, I will enjoy the sun rising over the Atlantic from over 6,000 feet above sea level.
