San Francisco to Minneapolis to Atlanta (5/1 – 5/10)
It’s been a flurry of travel these past couple weeks. The 1st of May I flew from SF to Minneapolis for Midwest Lindy Fest. I flew overnight on Sun Country – an airline that only flies in and out of Minneapolis and arrived at 5am Central Time (it was 3am Pacific Time for me). I trucked my luggage across a parking lot to the light rail which shuttled me across the city to the Warehouse District. Andrew picked me up and I proceeded to sleep for half the day.
I got up, grabbed some coffee, found out Jo wasn’t going to get in until after rehearsal for the show. We hadn’t practiced or even run our routine since Lindy Focus and we had hoped for an afternoon to drill it back into our heads. Instead we got about an hour in between changing, eating and rushing to the venue.
Thankfully Davis and I had time to practice our Do No Evil routine which went off quite well. Despite being short the lighting and costuming (thanks for the shirt Peter) fit perfectly and it’s our goal to finish it and perform it again.
I haven’t been part of a full scale show that has felt this professional in a while. Competition performance is an entirely different affair than putting on a show. In a show it’s not just about which tricks you perform or how complex your routine or how bad-ass you look (although that helps) it’s about taking the audience with you on your story.
And it’s all pieced together by the M.C. – this one did an exceptional job. I forget his name… A something.
It’s a rare experience to get to work on a show with such exceptional characters like Stefan & Bethany, Falty & Casey, Adam, and many more. Some of them have a lot of show experience and some have very little (me) but the encouragement and professionalism more experienced performers exhibit draws the rest of the performers in.
Anyways, Midwest Lindy Fest was a blast. One of the best small events I’ve been to in a while and I haven’t danced that hard for months. The bands were killer (particularly the Southside Aces) and we even got a late night jam going Saturday night where Robert Bell joined us for a bit.
I got to spend Monday mostly on my own as Andrew worked late. I spent about 8 hours in Espresso Royale, a cafe about a block down from the apartment. It entertains me when I see two shifts of staff come in and out of an establishment. If you are ever in Minneapolis I recommend trying the breve latte. Deliciously sweet and seductive.
I went out in the evening to Famous Dave’s BBQ for dinner (at around 10pm) and to see the band there with a couple dancers. The band was playing Rockabilly – poorly – and I think they should have stuck to the bluegrass country sound they played well. As for Famous Dave’s… I recommend the happy hour appetizers (2$ for nearly any appetizer) and their ribs were pretty good, I’ve yet to find a place that truly tops Dinosaur BBQ in Rochester, NY though.
Tuesday I flew out to Atlanta in the afternoon. I had the opportunity to be driven by Clay Collins, one of my favorite internet people. He used to run a successful lifestyle design blog but abandoned it when he didn’t feel it fit him anymore. Instead he created Finance Your Freedom and Project Mojave just launched today. It’s a project with an excellent array of faculty to help you create an online business to free you from the burdens of a typical job.
Enough proselytizing. Clay was kind enough to meet up and drive me to the airport and I’m bummed we didn’t have the chance to sit down for a proper drink and chat. We talked the entire way to the airport, asking questions, talking about business, and the life paths we had chosen (why we lived where we did – or in my case out of a suitcase). It’s always great to meet someone who has that curiousity. I look forward to our next meeting.
Best compliment he gave me (to gloat a moment): “you’re the real deal.”
San Mateo, CA – Dead Laptop & Sunny California (4/8)
So my laptop’s hard drive died at approximately 4am the morning of the 2nd of April and for that reason, on top of teaching this past weekend and exhausting myself the prior weekend at Boston Tea Party, I’ve not been capable of getting more Vagabond Cafe posts up.
So, I’ll attempt to start anew from here and then tackle the backlog.
I flew in to San Francisco yesterday from Cleveland, OH with a layover in Charlotte, NC. Now why exactly I flew south a few hundred miles to then cross the country I can’t explain but that’s the way airlines work.
The upside, Charlotte’s airport is now one of my favorites. The majority of the terminals are open and airy with moving walkways lined with plants and windows. The shops are unobtrusive, coffee readily available, and WiFi for free (a disappointment when you don’t have a working laptop).
Most of my flights these days have been a couple hours at most since I’ve basically hopped across the country but North Carolina to California is a coast-to-coast long haul. Five hours in air plus taxi time and I wanted to stretch out down the aisle after about an hour or two.
Another hour in and the parents of the two year old behind me were readily becoming my least favorite people. The child was fine. He was quiet, occasionally whacked the back of the seat but more often than not just had a little wander up or down the aisle. The parents… well I’ll say they were a bit more wearing.
Upside to my flight: extra seat to myself. Downside: only one meal on a five hour flight when I usually eat every two or three hours.
I touched down in San Francisco about twenty minutes late, snagged my suitcase (which is in dire need of replacing), and caught the Bart. As an annoyance to get to the Caltrain from SFO you need to go north on the Bart then back one stop on a different line to Milbrae. If you miss the Caltrain I hope you enjoy waiting.
Lucky for once, I managed to walk off the Bart an directly onto the Caltrain. I pulled out my phone to update my ride that I made the train and low-and-behold: battery dead. Last thing Rye knew, I was at Milbrae waiting for the train.
So while I traveled south on the train, Rye drove north to pick me up at Milbrae. Passing each other in the night, I disembarked at Redwood and not seeing his car walked to the dance venue – luggage in tow. It’s only about an eight minute walk, so I didn’t mind. Thankfully we got a hold of Rye before he camped out for me somewhere I wasn’t going to be. Problem? Not so much.
I hung out at the dance until it closed down then headed back to Carla & Rye’s to crash. I settled in on their incredibly comfy guest bed (memory foam is my friend) with David Sedaris’s memoir Naked and promptly passed out.
Montreal, QC – Coming Home Homeless (4/17)
This post is out of order, but it is current, I’ll probably start doing this in an attempt to 
keep up with my travels while recalling where I’ve been before.
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time— , Little Gidding
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I have been expelled from a country, slept in a 6′x10′ room on an air mattress, and lived out of a suitcase but I have never felt homeless until I came home.
Just thinking about coming home to Montreal has caused me to well up with emotion and tears, actually doing it has left me empty (in a state of shock).
I took the train up from Albany today; eight hours from Albany to Montreal, a three and a half hour drive (four if the border is slow). I realized the dedication it would take to get on that train and ride it all the way to NYC and back for only a short visit (that ride is more like 12 hours).
I used to live in Montreal. My life was here. I had friends, family, love, two cats. Then it was taken away. I sank. But a part of me stayed here, resided in the upstairs with the two cats and the cups of tea. It stayed after all I thought I wanted here was gone. It stayed until someone else moved in and I became unwelcome. Suddenly my heart no longer has a home.
I closed the door to the apartment and put my boots on in the stairwell. Chris had already gone to bed, work woke her early. I stepped outside. Snow congealed into dirty patches of ice lingered along the edges. Montreal’s stereotypical curved 2nd floor walkup stairs brought me to rue St. Phillipe.
I walked along the street, boots thudding away through my heels, past the snow removal sign (mardi et jeudi) to rue Notre-Dame. I have walked this street before. Not so long ago yet separated by a series of shattered lives.
I passed the dingy pizza shop at the corner of St. Marguerite opposite the greasy dejeuner where an omelette comes with a slice of american slapped to it. The old IGA storefront, still empty. The Cremerie adjoining Caffe Mariani where I used to spend days sipping on espresso and eating gourmet pizza until they had me making my own drinks and serving customers. The patio where I sat in the sun when I came home for the first time almost a year ago. All that light and no sight. The park where we watched the pigeons chase each other in heat. And then I was there at the corner.
I passed it and stood in front of the studio. Too dark to see the emptiness inside.
Back to the corner and down my street. No car in the back lot. Then I could see the lights on where my things still are. I passed them, they weren’t mine anymore. And I was there. The door where my keys would no longer fit. A T.V. is on and a light in the entryway and kitchen, that much I can tell just from knowing it. But that’s it. I walk past and then turn around. Across the street. I lean against the snow removal sign, tip my hat down and let memories fill me.
It is late spring, Adrian and Sylwia join us for brunch in the garden. There is mango and cheese and crepes and powdered sugar. The apple tree is shedding its blossoms.
It is sunday. There is the blue teapot amongst aluminum trays of chicken curry, shrimp dumplings and peanut sauce. It is a lazy day inside.
I am cold and sick. It is late and we’ve been driving into the night. I am shivering and pale. There is a hot bath already waiting for me. It is home.
There is a ring of silver wire with a purple stone beaded onto it.
Bus Trip to Austin (1/21)
Not many people take the bus anymore, it’s almost a forgotten mode of transit, with their cars or plane travel being the primary mode. My experience taking the bus has rarely let me down. I’ve been all over the Northeast on buses and have now added my longest trip to date – a 22 hour foray from Atlanta, GA to Austin, TX.
It started at 2pm yesterday, I PackageExpressed some excess clothing back to Maine, and boarded the bus (again the last person on). PackageExpress is probably one of the cheapest ways to ship boxes and baggage long distances.
We traveled into Alabama and stopped in Birmingham for an hour. I posted a brief update from Java & Jams, a cafe I found via Yelp, where I sat down for a coffee and some wifi.
Alabama was far more Apalachian than I had imagined it would be, full of scraggy conifers and rugged albeit not massive hills. I thoroughly enjoyed the scenery from my window and will definitely make a point to travel back through Alabama in the future.
As we departed night settled down and I kicked back to finish Vagabonding, scribbling notes in Moleskin for SlackerReform.
We rode through Mississippi, a state I’ve only ever spelled out loud for the entertainment in that process, with an hour stopover around 9:30 central time. I grabbed a chicken sandwich from the Union Station cafe in Jackson, MS. The woman behind the counter inquired about my washboard and we chatted a moment about music which I think landed me a free batch of fries.
Once back on the road I settled in for the night with The Weepies strumming me to sleep. I recently discovered The Weepies while flipping through artists on AllMusic and I have two of their albums, Say I Am You, which is my favorite and Hideaway. Lovely little duo of musicians from California playing a mellow but entrancing pop-folk style.
I woke up about 6am CT as we drove in to Dallas. Perfect timing as the sun climbed up across the vast openness of Texas (it’s amazing really).
We pulled into Dallas late, I unloaded, grabbed my checked bag and stepped on to the Austin bus. I had slept fitfully overnight yet, like a cat, put me in a patch of warm sun and I’m out.
I woke around 9am and watched the flatness roll by. In the ways of geography and ecology Texas is strange yet when you add the clutter of big box stores, Starbucks, McDonalds and all the rest of our consumer life it isn’t that far off from the drive I would get through New Hampshire.
The greatest relief of the trip: stepping off the bus at 10:20am into 65° F weather.
Knoxville (Jan 13th)
January 13th I nearly missed my bus to Knoxville, TN. I had booked my ticket online and being used to e-Ticket check-in at the bus station in NYC I failed to attribute the wait time a normal desk check-in takes. I was the last passenger on the bus – washboard in hand, Chrome bag over my shoulder.
We stopped off in Dayton, TN at a Pilot truck stop where most of the passengers proceeded to buy food from McDonalds. Thankfully I had packed a Trader Joe’s survival kit of trail mix, dried mango and chocolate covered espresso beans along with my trusty Thermos topped up with homemade coffee. Being prepared saves me from fast food and my wallet from needless spending.
Jon picked me up at the bus station and we dropped my bags at his house and headed out for dinner at a local gastropub, The Crown and Goose.
We treated ourselves to a fine beer, mine was a “Caribbean” stout – smooth and easy to drink sans a coffee bitter, and our waiter was very knowledgeable and pleasant. I chose the Shephard’s Pie which was slow-braised lamb in a red wine sauce baked with Yukon golden mash and topped with two lamb chops cooked to rare. The chops dissolved as I ate them. The pie was baked with a nice crisp skin to the mash while the insides were a refreshing change from the regular ground beef I’ve had in shephards pie in the past much more akin to pulled pork in its stringiness which falls apart.
Nearly bursting at the seams we managed to decide, or perhaps were happily convinced by our waiter, to order the bread pudding which replaced the typical raisin topping with dried cranberries soaked in whiskey. Not my favorite bread pudding but delicious all the same. We even managed to score a tasting of the Sticky Toffee Pudding thanks to again to our waiter slipping it past the chef. The toffee pudding was deceiving, when you cut into it with your spoon it seemed dense yet upon delivery it melted away. An excellent sample to round off our night.
Waiting for one of Jon’s friends to potentially get us into a movie, we dodged off to a local Borders to peruse their books i.e. read their magazines without paying and nabbed a coffee from the Seattle’s Best cafe. After two magazines our coffees ran dry and with no word from the movie friend we headed back to Jon’s.
Curled up on the couch with You Don’t Mess with the Zohan on my laptop we called it a night. As for Zohan, I would say watch the first three quarters then give up before the movie decides to resolve the hackneyed plot.
