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From the Country to the City, BEA Part One
Last Wednesday this time we were still not packed and I was getting cranky. About eleven, packing was declared Done and we fell into bed for five hours of sleep. Upon awakening, we planned to feed the cats, remove the luggage to the car and drive down to the Portland Amtrak Station, arriving in good time for a leisurely boarding.
Well.
First, the cats were Not At All Fooled by our bogus display of normality, and dragged out their breakfasts -- not a real problem in Patia's case, but Max!'s breakfast is laced with thyroid medicine, so he like really needs to have it. Because of this, we were fifteen minutes late climbing aboard Argent for the drive, but we weren't worried. Fifteen minutes is recoverable.
Except, of course, if there's Fog.
Which there was. Entire cars vanished into the mists before us. Traffic -- at least, as much traffic as we could see -- slowed from eighty to sixty to thirty-five, which still felt a thought too fast, and we held that pace for miles.
Our train was to leave at 6:30 a.m. At 6:20 a.m., we pulled into the parking lot, unloaded our gear and fled into the terminal, where we were greeted with the information that our train was boarding now. Yikes!
The trip to Boston North Station was uneventful, and I wish I could say the same for the taxi ride from North Station to South. Against all expectations, we arrived at South Station in one piece, gave our baggage into the care of Bill the Redcap and went in search of Second Breakfast/First Lunch.
This was had at Au Bon Pain. I was feeling sufficiently stressed that a Comfort Sandwich seemed in order, so I asked the nice lady behind the counter for a Swiss cheese sandwich on multi-grain bread. She stared at me.
"That is all?" she asked, plainly horrified. "Nothing more? No mustard? Mayonnaise? No --"
"Butter," I said, smiling. She blinked and her face got very bland.
"Swiss cheese on multi-grain bread with butter," she repeated.
"It's a Comfort Sandwich," I explained, which got a small smile and a nod, and no more arguments as she rung it up and gave me my number.
The order was then passed to the sandwich maker, who took one look at it, and turned to the order-taker.
"What is this?"
"A Swiss cheese sandwich on multi-grain bread," she said primly.
"Nothing else?" he demanded.
"Butter," she answered.
Muttering, he made the sandwich, and called my number. I came forward and smiled, but he wasn't ready to turn the sandwich loose yet.
"I can microwave it for you," he said. I swear there were tears in his eyes.
"It's OK," I told him. "That's just the way I want it. Thank you so much."
He let me take the sandwich, but it was a near thing.
After the meal --![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kinzel cleverly ordered a ham-and-cheese on a roll and so escaped breaking the heart of his sandwich-maker -- we wandered the station a bit, visiting the flowers at KaBloom, and the plush bear at Serenade Chocolatiers. kinzel bought a slice of cake against need, and then it was time to join Bill the Redcap and claim our seats on Amtrak Train Number 164, for Washington, DC.
The ride was pleasant; Bill had made sure we were situated on the ocean side of the car and we saw many eagles, ducks, cormorants, swans, heron (white and gray), and incredible numbers of boats at dock.
We arrived at New York's Penn Station just a few minutes before four and felt our way out onto the street, joining a line of folks who needed a taxi fetched for them.
The line, it moved slow -- apparently a good number of cabbies in New York are independently wealthy and really don't need to take fares -- but eventually it was our turn.
That was when the police office arrived to tell the guy who was hailing taxis that the street above was closed and no more traffic would be coming through for a while, due to a teachers union demonstration.
Things looked bleak for about forty-five seconds. Then a pedi-cab arrived; the driver assured us that he could take us and our luggage to our hotel, and we were off! I very much liked the pedicab ride, and felt much safer than I had in the Boston cab earlier in the day. We arrived at our hotel much amused, though the fare as, ah...steep, negotiated with the front desk and went to findkinzel's cousin, and let her know we had arrived. After a short catch-up, we meandered around the neighborhood for awhile, then met up with our cousin again at Chez Laurence, a sort of American-French cafe/pastry shop that instantly felt like home. We had a wonderful meal, much family talk and got back to the hotel 'way too late, very happy, and in our innocence looking forward to the BEA on the morrow.
To be continued...
Well.
First, the cats were Not At All Fooled by our bogus display of normality, and dragged out their breakfasts -- not a real problem in Patia's case, but Max!'s breakfast is laced with thyroid medicine, so he like really needs to have it. Because of this, we were fifteen minutes late climbing aboard Argent for the drive, but we weren't worried. Fifteen minutes is recoverable.
Except, of course, if there's Fog.
Which there was. Entire cars vanished into the mists before us. Traffic -- at least, as much traffic as we could see -- slowed from eighty to sixty to thirty-five, which still felt a thought too fast, and we held that pace for miles.
Our train was to leave at 6:30 a.m. At 6:20 a.m., we pulled into the parking lot, unloaded our gear and fled into the terminal, where we were greeted with the information that our train was boarding now. Yikes!
The trip to Boston North Station was uneventful, and I wish I could say the same for the taxi ride from North Station to South. Against all expectations, we arrived at South Station in one piece, gave our baggage into the care of Bill the Redcap and went in search of Second Breakfast/First Lunch.
This was had at Au Bon Pain. I was feeling sufficiently stressed that a Comfort Sandwich seemed in order, so I asked the nice lady behind the counter for a Swiss cheese sandwich on multi-grain bread. She stared at me.
"That is all?" she asked, plainly horrified. "Nothing more? No mustard? Mayonnaise? No --"
"Butter," I said, smiling. She blinked and her face got very bland.
"Swiss cheese on multi-grain bread with butter," she repeated.
"It's a Comfort Sandwich," I explained, which got a small smile and a nod, and no more arguments as she rung it up and gave me my number.
The order was then passed to the sandwich maker, who took one look at it, and turned to the order-taker.
"What is this?"
"A Swiss cheese sandwich on multi-grain bread," she said primly.
"Nothing else?" he demanded.
"Butter," she answered.
Muttering, he made the sandwich, and called my number. I came forward and smiled, but he wasn't ready to turn the sandwich loose yet.
"I can microwave it for you," he said. I swear there were tears in his eyes.
"It's OK," I told him. "That's just the way I want it. Thank you so much."
He let me take the sandwich, but it was a near thing.
After the meal --
kinzel cleverly ordered a ham-and-cheese on a roll and so escaped breaking the heart of his sandwich-maker -- we wandered the station a bit, visiting the flowers at KaBloom, and the plush bear at Serenade Chocolatiers. kinzel bought a slice of cake against need, and then it was time to join Bill the Redcap and claim our seats on Amtrak Train Number 164, for Washington, DC.The ride was pleasant; Bill had made sure we were situated on the ocean side of the car and we saw many eagles, ducks, cormorants, swans, heron (white and gray), and incredible numbers of boats at dock.
We arrived at New York's Penn Station just a few minutes before four and felt our way out onto the street, joining a line of folks who needed a taxi fetched for them.
The line, it moved slow -- apparently a good number of cabbies in New York are independently wealthy and really don't need to take fares -- but eventually it was our turn.
That was when the police office arrived to tell the guy who was hailing taxis that the street above was closed and no more traffic would be coming through for a while, due to a teachers union demonstration.
Things looked bleak for about forty-five seconds. Then a pedi-cab arrived; the driver assured us that he could take us and our luggage to our hotel, and we were off! I very much liked the pedicab ride, and felt much safer than I had in the Boston cab earlier in the day. We arrived at our hotel much amused, though the fare as, ah...steep, negotiated with the front desk and went to find
kinzel's cousin, and let her know we had arrived. After a short catch-up, we meandered around the neighborhood for awhile, then met up with our cousin again at Chez Laurence, a sort of American-French cafe/pastry shop that instantly felt like home. We had a wonderful meal, much family talk and got back to the hotel 'way too late, very happy, and in our innocence looking forward to the BEA on the morrow.To be continued...
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I miss good bread more than any other grain--you can keep the cookies and cakes, because the flourless kinds do me just fine.
Sympathies with