Sunday 28 May 1995 Salem
MA
Today is the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. We had been told that everyone
travels over this weekend and we were expecting heavy traffic, crowds
everywhere and no accommodation. Wrong, at least on two counts and we got a bed
in the Coach House Inn at Salem
on a third call. It was a glorious sunny day, although not all that hot – the
top temperature we saw was 72F/21C and by the time we got here at fiveish it
was about 15C.
We managed to get hold of Matt this morning - on his way out at 21.00
on Sunday evening – very cheerful and promising to fax us in London. He said he had sent a fax the night
before to the hotel, but we didn’t get that one. I know I get a bit hysterical
about him at times and I know it is an emotional hangover from his accident so
I try to work on it. Nevertheless it is always good to speak to him.
Fortified by this, and an excellent breakfast, we finished packing and
collected our Hertz car – another Taurus (at a
cost of US$161 per week). The breakfast at The Eliot is a great way to
start the day – at least for us. Fresh fruit – mainly melon and strawberries at
this time of the year – plus yoghurt and muesli (if required) and a choice of
fresh bagels, including blueberry bagels, croissants, muffins etc and usually a
couple of cakes. All washed down with good coffee and tasty orange juice. I
usually manage to restrain myself, in the interests of maintaining my mass, to
the fruit and one bagel with cream cheese, sometimes sharing a yoghurt with
Rab. This morning I had a bit of delicious cappuccino cake which we shared – I
forewent half the bagel. And it was well worth it.
The Eliot fulfilled its promise. It is a lovely hotel. We had a very
comfortable suite – at US$195 it is not cheap, but compared to somewhere like
the Plaza in New York at about $250 or the Castle Harbor
in Bermuda at $373 it is a gift – and the
staff are very pleasant too. Certainly confirmed in our list of the Top Ten and
second only to Four Seasons, Seattle on the North American continent. But back
to the narrative:
I had actually nipped down Newbury
St before breakfast to ets some Odour Eaters for
Rab. She had never worn her sneakers for quite so long and walked quite so much
in quite such warm conditions and had been assailed by a strong scent last
evening when finally unlacing them. I have been using Odour Eaters for years
and they are very good. I couldn’t get them but got the equivalent Sr Scholl’s
product which smells like baby powder being specifically designed for ladies –
so far so good.
We rode the T for one last time and again admired its efficiency and
cost. We picked up the car without any problems and found our way back to The
Eliot without a hitch. After loading up our seven bits of luggage – we
only had four when we started this trip – we set off 180 degrees in the
wrong direction to my chagrin, since I had chosen the direction. Rab’s skill as
a map-reader improves by leaps and bounds and she soon had us back on course,
heading for Concord
via the back roads. It is not far from Boston to
Concord which
is celebrated as the place where the first shot “heard around the world” was
fired in the Revolutionary War.
We saw some beautiful countryside in the course of our journey and were
surprised how little traffic there was. We were struck, yet again, by the
attractive towns and houses – they are so much better looking than their
Australian equivalents. We wandered around Concord, me doing a bit of history gathering,
Rab just tagging along. It still puzzles me that she finds nothing of interest
in the past or old things, except of course those things that are striking in
themselves.
I do not know much about the detail of the American Revolution and
would not go out of my way to study it but still find it fascinating that, to
take a couple of examples from yesterday’s tour, we walked past the church
where the hymn “America” was first sung over 150 years ago, next door to which
was a graveyard in which Elizabeth Goose, who won some renown as Mother Goose,
is buried. Further down the street is another graveyard where one of the
original Pilgrim Fathers was buried. All marvellous to me and of no moment to
Rab.
(I was intrigued to see a skull and crossed
bones adorning many of the headstones, which seemed odd for Christian burials
until I discovered in researching the family crest of one of my forebears that
the bones are thigh bones, without which we cannot ‘rise again’.)
She says maybe I’ll be luckier next time around, but I do not see how I
could be. I still find it incredible, as I said to her today, that we can enjoy
each other’s company so much after all these years and revel in being together
on a trip like this.
We, or rather Rab, got chatting to the proprietor of a gifte shoppe cum
coffee bar where we stopped for a cappuccino – definitely the best we have ever
had in the US.
It turned out that she was married to an Aussie from Tassie – Tim Lawrence –
and before we knew where we were we were down in his office chatting away like
old pals while he churned out copper plate italicised hand written invitations
to a society wedding – using his computer and some very sophisticated software
as a contractor for Tiffany’s. very interesting folk who said they would look
us up when hext they are in Melbourne.
(Never
heard from them – maybe they never got back to Melbourne – or maybe it was the ships in the
night syndrome.)
We backtracked a bit after leaving Concord
and headed for Salem
using some very obscure bye ways. We went awry a couple of times due to poor
signposting but Rab soon had us back on track . We missed a turn towards the
end of the journey and landed up in the poorer quarters of Lynn. It looked like the kind of place which
the guide books advise you to avoid or, if you get into them by accident, not
to stop and to keep your doors locked while making as rapid an exit as is safe.
But we were soon back on the track and passing some great houses with splendid
views on the way to Marblehead.
We found the inn without too much trouble and then took a spin around
Marblehead – out to the lighthouse and back to the old town – late 17th
century/early 18th and quaint.
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| Salem from Marblehead |
Fortunately we decided to have a fairly early evening dinner (as we had
only shared a toasted sandwich for lunch) because Salem closes down at 20.00 – 21, daringly, on
Fridays and Saturdays. There was nothing doing down on the pier which is the
centre of the town’s tourist focus, apart from the witches museum etc, so we
will not bother to go back into town tomorrow but will press on to the North.
The people in the restaurant were very pleasant and friendly but
hopelessly inefficient and clearly anxious to see us on our way so they could
get off home. We had some very good chowder and I had broiled scrod which
looked like hake to me and kingklip to Rab. It was plain, which is just what I
wanted, and very tasty, there was a serve of beans on the side, which were
delicious.
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| Coach House Inn - very pretty |
And so to bed – Rab out for the count by 21.00 and me to follow soonish.
I am finding it more and more difficult to write on the low wicker table lit by
a 60 watt globe, or on my lap, and my back is developing a spasm.
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