So close, yet so far

Recently, I traveled to NYC to spend a weekend with a friend. We stayed with her sister in Queens and took the subway into the city each day. The nearest subway station was a half mile walk from her sister's apartment. That is not only not very far, it's a rather nice walk through a pretty neighborhood.

On my way home to suburban New Hampshire life, I had strategically parked my car at the park and ride where I picked up the bus to the city (Boston) that led to the train that took me to NYC. Guess the distance from the park and ride to my home?

That's right - half a mile.

And yet, I knew I needed to drive. Not because of the distance, which is obviously not a problem for me. Not because I was carrying luggage, because my luggage has wheels and I only pack what I can manage myself.

But because at night, in my neighborhood, walking home from the park and ride looks like this:

You can't tell from the picture, but there are trees on either side of the road. Trees into which someone could drag me if they so choose. The buildings of my community are at the top of that hill, with no one around for that half mile walk. In Queens, you're never more than ten steps away from a nosy neighborhood looking out their front window.

These are things that I ponder when I consider where I live, and how Americans live in general. In France, I could wander anywhere, anytime, no car needed. In suburban America, I need a car to go half a mile for safety's sake. It's a shame. 

I just want to buy shoes like a normal person

Some time ago, I reached out to a friend who has been living and working in Spain for many years as a tour guide. I figured if anyone knows what shoes to wear to walk for miles each day in Europe without being mistaken for a dumb American tourist, it's her.

She recommended one pair of waterproof hiking shoes, and a pair of Mephistos. She acknowledged that Mephistos are expensive, but worth it.

Last weekend, I walked into a shoe store in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh, and asked to try on a cute pair of Mephisto sandals. The store was about ten minutes to closing and the staff had no real interest in helping me. I had to walk up to the three people standing at the cash register looking grumpy and ask if I could quickly try on a pair. I really wanted to get a feel for my size, since Mephistos tend to go by European sizing, where I can be either a 40 or 41.

One salesman reluctantly went in the back and came out with a different pair of Mephistos. They didn't have the pair I liked in the 40, so he brought these, which I was happy to try on but which I did not like nearly as much. The guy insisted on putting them on my feet for me (I thought we were over that in shoe stores), tightening them a bit too much. They were comfortable, but I wasn't positive I didn't need a bigger size. This guy had no interest in getting the next size up for me to try, and I was pretty sick of the side eye I was getting from the staff, so I said no thank you and left.

But, I have been thinking about these shoes ever since. After two weekends in a row of city walking, I really wanted to find a pair of sandals that are comfortable for the 6-7 miles a day I walk while on vacation but do not look like birkenstocks or hiking shoes.

Then I remembered that I live in New Hampshire, land of few retail options.

I did a product search from Mephistos website and they list The Walking Store as a retailer carrying their shoes. I stopped by the local store after work and the saleslady didn't even know what brand I was talking about. She said there are other Walking Store locations in towns further away, but her coworker said they don't have Mephistos, either. Then she suggested I check Famous Footwear. She was trying to be helpful, but she had no clue what these shoes are or that they are a premium (expensive) brand.

So, silly me, I thought I could just call Mephisto directly and ask what size they recommended for a 9.5 foot. I went to Mephisto and chose the United States version of the website and scrolled down the fine print. Under "Corporate" there is an option to "Contact us." Great! Except there is no phone number. It's an email form. I don't mind sending emails in general but seriously, I can't just call? So I tried the website option that was specifically for online ordering. There is a phone number for calling order support. Great! I called it (888-234-5450). Here's what I heard:

"Thank you for calling online order support. We are here to help you place your order online from the brand you trust...[number options - I chose 2, for specific ordering/product help] "Our website uses Shopatron to support online customers placing orders. Shopatron representatives will not have the expertise to answer questions regarding inventory or product specific information. If you have product questions, warranty questions, or technical questions about a product, it is best to call the brand or manufacturer directly. You can likely find a product information phone number on a manufacturer's website."

Um. Except you can't.

I tried seeking Mephisto on Twitter. No go. The only Twitter account is @MephistoShoesPB, which is a Palm Beach, FL store that hasn't tweeted anything since 2016.

I did a store locator search on Nordstrom. There are zero Nordstroms in New Hampshire and the product search kept coming up with Nordstrom Racks in Massachusetts. I do love a Nordstrom Rack but not when seeking a specific and current product. I called Nordstrom. This company at least puts you through to an actual person. The nice Nordstrom lady also struggled with a location search and finally was able to determine that the nearest brick and mortar non-Rack Nordstrom is an hour and fifteen minutes away in Braintree, MA. In a shopping mall. In the suburbs. Which is about the least appealing reason to drive an hour and fifteen minutes each way that I can imagine.

I started reading online reviews to figure out which size might make sense. I realize I could have just ordered the 40 and 41 and sent back whichever didn't fit, but 1) I don't feel like dealing with that nonsense, I just want to shop for a pair of shoes like a normal person, and B) these shoes are expensive and putting that much money down just to try on sizes, even knowing I can easily return one pair, did not sit well with me.

Reviews were not helpful. Feedback was all over the place regarding these shoes. My friend wears 8.5 which is a 39 for her in Mephistos, which made me think more and more that I would need the 41 as I suspected. Another friend asked at a Walking Store in Pittsburgh and they recommended ordering a 41/10 if I'm a 9.5, because the shoes run short. Too bad the jerk at the brick and mortar store I originally went to didn't want to help me. I would have considered buying a pair from him had I not felt rushed and treated so rudely.

In the end, I placed an order from Nordstrom online for a pair of 10s/41s, and we shall see what happens. I really wish I could go to an actual store and try on different styles and sizes and feel good about my purchase, rather than go through this nonsense. At least with Nordstrom I know I am giving my business to a company with excellent customer service and the best return policy around, but it honestly could not be harder to buy a brand of these shoes.

All I can say is they better kick ass as city-walking shoes.

All the things you want in one day

On a recent trip to NYC, my friend and I had grand plans to wander, to enjoy a few rooftop bars, to see a show, and to generally enjoy all that the city has to offer. Man, did we do this in spades. It was a great weekend, with perfect weather. I spent most of the time marveling at the ability, while in New York, to go anywhere, to do anything, at any time, unlike in my car-centric New England home environment.

My friend’s one request was that we plan dinner on Saturday to allow for enough time to not have to run for the show. She has some vision problems, and trying to run without being able to see where she puts her feet results in inevitably face plants on the ground or perhaps into poles, trash cans, bollards, or other obstacles. Not fun. I was happy to oblige because I don’t really like the stress of making a run for it anyway, regardless of visibility.

We had dinner at 5pm in a terrific Korean restaurant right around the corner from the theater. We took our time. We enjoyed the tasting menu for two. We tried a new type of liquor (soju, a Korean distilled spirit made from sweet potatoes), we enjoyed pork belly two ways, we had black sesame ice cream for dessert. We both ate so much we could barely touch the final beverage pairing let alone finish it.

The meal took about two hours, which was perfect, because that gave us a full hour to walk to the theater, where we got there so early we actually stood in line to wait to get in. This never happens for my friend, who, for the last few shows she has seen, inevitably never stands in line because of the aforementioned rushing as they run down the street.

We get into the theater and see people drinking wine out of souvenir sippy cups. Let me say that again: the theater had wine in sippy cups. Genius. I would have bought one were I not still uncomfortably stuffed from dinner. I bought a souvenir magnet (I collect those). The show was terrific, and I even made it to the restroom and back during intermission despite one of the longest bathroom lines I have ever seen (the line started two floors up and snaked down to the basement level). 

Pretty much everything went right that was supposed to go right. The next day, we took the subway to Brooklyn, ate pizza at a well-known pizza shop without having to wait in line. We walked back to Manhattan by walking over the Brooklyn Bridge (crowded yet totally fun). We found our second rooftop bar of the weekend. The weather was perfect. We found great pour over coffee and little French pastries at a shop near the water. Have I mentioned that the weekend was perfect?

That is, until I got to Penn Station. I had a train booked back to Boston with fifteen minutes to get from the train station to the bus depot next door. If I made the 10 o’clock bus, I would get home at about 11pm, as planned. If I missed it, there was one more bus, at 11pm, but I really didn’t want to sit around Boston’s South Street bus station at 10 o’clock at night, nor did I want to get home so late. But, at least I had a backup plan and I wouldn’t need it anyway because the trains run on time, right? 

Except when they don’t. First my train posted at 3 minutes late. Then ten. Then the dreaded fifteen, and there went my window to make my connection. Then, throughout my ride home, the window would change and go back to five minutes late, then ten minutes late, then … and so forth. 

I was ready at the door of the train with my bag when the doors opened in Boston. I bolted off that train and ran from the platform to the stairwell to the building next door, up one escalator, then up another, then I found the terminal and there was my bus! I saw it! I had made it!

Except, I hadn’t made it. That was a different bus from the same company. My bus had departed on time and I had missed it by about three minutes.

Deep breaths. I confirmed with the station agent that there was, in fact, an 11pm bus scheduled for that bay. I then went to buy a bottle of water at the McDonald’s open in the station (where the woman rang me up, went to get the water, put the bottle of water down at the end of the counter, and then came back to me to give my receipt. Um. Lady. You had the bottle of water in your hand. You couldn’t just hand it to me? I get that there is a process for people ordering food to pick up their food at the end of the counter, but the bottle of water was right…never mind.)

Luckily, hanging out in the train station wasn’t as creepy as I had anticipated. There were plenty of other people around also trying to get from here to there. The kindly station agent kept checking on me because he knew I was anxious to get home. The 11pm bus arrived on time and the bus driver was a hoot. But as I was sitting there, cursing the train that was late by just this much, I texted my friend who was still back in New York. She said she was sorry I was stuck there. I said it’s okay, it’s probably just karma for how smoothly our weekend went and payback for not having to run for the theater. She relayed that to her eleven-year old nephew who then said, “It’s never good to have everything you want in one day,” and that it was totally karma.

He is right.

Traveling with others

It is a rare and special thing to find someone with whom you can travel well.

You might get along with someone famously in person, but then when you try traveling together, certain differences become apparent right away.

Differences that, in particular, stem from a lack of travel experience for one person, and a dearth of it for the other.

I am by no means as well traveled as those who travel for a living. Consultants live out of their suitcases, taking airplanes to work every Monday, and airplanes home every Thursday. They know of the precious time wasted standing at the baggage carousel, and so they have figured out how to make a weeks' worth of clothes fit into one carry-on.

I am working on this. With every trip, I get a little better at figuring out which shoes I really do need, and how to make the most out of the limited space. I have learned that regular packing cubes frustrate me but the compression cubes are genius. I didn't think the shirt/pant folder would save me a darn bit of space, yet it is amazing at maximizing packing space. I still haven't found the best way to pack toiletries, but I'm working on that.

Tomorrow, I leave for a two day trip to two different cities. I will be traveling with three coworkers. Thankfully, I like all three. Not liking each other would make even a short trip an utter hell. We seem to have paired off naturally in terms of personality, so I have a travel buddy in particular within the group.

There is a fifth person who made a lot of travel arrangements, and I don't know her very well. I can only guess she doesn't travel much based on the decisions she made. I also know that she works closely with my two non-buddy traveling companions so I think they speak a sort of shorthand. No hard feelings among any of them, but I wonder if that's why the planning for the trip has seemed so frustrating to me.

I like my TSA pre-check status, traveling light, checking in early, flying Southwest. I know that the two major cities to which we will be traveling - Houston and Dallas - both have two major airports in them and that both cities are known for their absolutely legendary traffic. I might be the only one in the group who knows this. The others made their flight reservations first, leaving buddy J and I to follow along. J and I wanted Southwest but the other crew had already picked American. After we had booked and confirmed our flights, someone thought to look at a map and realized that flying into the other airport (that serves Southwest, ahem) would be better in terms of traffic getting to the venue. Too late, folks. Booking on American means change fees.

Then, time passed. I heard nothing more about hotels, plans. J asked for an itinerary. We were told it was forthcoming. We leave tomorrow. Yesterday, we asked again for an itinerary. There still was no mention of one, but we were asked to each bring in an empty wheelie suitcase so our employer didn't have to pay shipping fees to send the swag we're bringing on ahead of us. I really hate being asked to use my personal property for work purposes, especially when the work purposes are to cover the mistakes of others. It's not really that expensive to ship a few boxes if you plan ahead. Overnight or two-day shipping, on the other hand, costs a small fortune. Apparently, even though the planners knew about this trip for months, it occurred to no one to plan ahead and ship the necessary items.

Again, we asked for an itinerary. We were told there binders on someone's desk and to feel free to look at them. Huh? Binders? For two days? What?

The travel planner had printed out all of the details for everything for each city and had made a binder for each city. One binder. Not copies for each of us. I looked at my coworker and said, "The reason I keep asking for the itinerary is because it is unsettling to not know where I am sleeping tomorrow. Can I please just see the hotel reservation information?"

She understood, and offered to have me make copies of the materials in binders. I made two copies: one for me and one for J. She was relieved to have that info in hand, as was I.

I looked at the materials, and shared details with my sister, who lives in Dallas. She said our hotel is the complete opposite side of town as our event. Remember the traffic? The hotel couldn't be less convenient if we tried.

The best part was this afternoon before leaving work when our travel planner emailed us to remind us to bring the confirmation code from when we booked our flights through the work travel service so we could get our boarding passes at the airport tomorrow. Boarding passes at the airport? Who still does that? I've had my boarding passes on my phone since 8:15 this morning.

Deep breaths. It will all be okay. But man, is this highlighting a few things about how I travel. I pack lightly, I travel swiftly, I bring one - and only one - extra pair of shoes. I'll probably bring a swimsuit even though I most likely won't use it, but beyond that, I won't overpack. I will use TSA Pre-check and breeze through security with my one small carry on bag. I will not be lugging an extra suitcase full of work-related items. I will breathe. I will enjoy good company and have some fun out and about in the world.

Maryland my Maryland

I lived in my home state of Maryland for close to 40 years, until I took a job in New England and moved away. For the last year and a half, I have been physically located in New England, though I find that a significant part of my heart remains in Maryland. This surprises me, because I had been ready to try living somewhere new and was bored with Maryland. Of course, it is the leaving that helps you realize what it is you left behind.

Luckily, going home is an easy hour-long plane ride, and last Fall I had a day with a friend with nothing on the agenda. We decided to wander.

We headed east to look into some thrift shops for doors that my friend wanted for her home. We didn't find the doors, but we did find the aptly named world's ugliest ashtray, in a building with the most crooked stairs I have ever seen.

We also decided to stop along the way to visit the Crow Winery which is, believe it or not, hidden away behind these beautiful fields of corn. The cornfields, which were so boring to drive through as a kid, are now a sign that I am in familiar territory. Even better when a family run cattle ranch and vineyard is tucked away behind them.

When we got out of the car at the vineyard, the proprietor approached us. "Oh, are you here to volunteer?" Um, what's this, now?

It turns out we stumbled upon harvest season, and they needed people to help sort the grapes. They offered us a freebie - wine, or beef - in exchange. In all honesty, we would have volunteered completely for free. The next thing we knew, we were standing at a conveyer belt, sleeves rolled up, with other wine-loving individuals to the right and left of us, sorting through the grapes as they came down the conveyor belt, pulling out any stems or twigs or (live) bugs that we could find. We felt not unlike Lucy Ricardo.

Bonus: when we returned to the winery a few months later for an event, they remembered us and gave us free t-shirts as a thank you for volunteering!

I now know just how many bugs and twigs can make it through into the vat of grape juice as it ferments into wine. I know this, and I am okay with it. I still drink the wine.

That night, we went on a scheduled ghost tour of Easton, MD. My friend and I love ghost tours. Do we believe in the ghosts? Maybe. But believing or not, the tours are always a great way to get a unique view of a local place, it's characters, and its charm. Plus, what is spookier than wandering around a graveyard at night?

I had no idea that Maryland could be this interesting.

That's me, sorting grapes.

Bonfire

I had never been to a bonfire.


I went home for a weekend last year to run a Halloween-themed 5k with a friend, and because it was Halloween weekend, there were lots of fun local things to do.

We joined some other good friends for an evening at Unity Churchill Nursery, in Churchill, Maryland, for their annual Burning Bush festival. Guests are invited to bring non-native invasive plants for a ceremonial burning.

We indulged in yummy food, ice cream, and mead, and then headed down a long, dark, windy path through tall grass to the pyre.

A great percussion ensemble played music while nursery staff lit the blaze.

We enjoyed the evening in the crisp fall air, surrounded by nature and the elements.

That's me on the left.

Maine is a little weird

I decided to get out and about today, and was inspired by a friend's recommendation of the best Nordstrom Rack being just an hour and a half away, in Portland, ME. We don't have a Nordstrom in New Hampshire. At all. In the entire state. So while the Rack is not the full-on retail store, I figured that could be a fun destination around which to build a day trip.

I head towards Portland, and stopped at the rest stop in Kennebunk for a quick pit stop, though got sucked in to the Popeye's chicken. I tried to resist, but couldn't do it. While I standing in line, I couldn't help but notice how bizarrely different each person was around me. Everyone seemed perfectly nice, but there was a refreshing lack of homogeny that we just don't see in New Hampsha.

Onward to the Rack where I was largely disappointed. I tried on a whole bunch of stuff and nothing was quite right. I ended up leaving with two pairs of Smart Wool socks (if you haven't tried these socks, do your feet a favor and get some), and a replacement moisturizer, since they had the only I like for travel at half off.

So, my time wasn't totally wasted, but yeesh.

Onward from there to downtown Portland. Note to self: be sure to plan future visits to Portland so that I arrive earlier in the day, as everything closes at 6pm, even on Saturdays. 

Well, not everything. Bars and restaurants stay open later, but I really wasn't in the mood for jello shots, thank you very much.

I arrived downtown at 6:10, too late to try to enjoy the gin distillery tasting room or shop at Simon Pearce. I did get in a very nice evening walk, though I didn't take too many pictures. It was chillier than expected, and while I remembered to bring a light jacket, it wasn't enough to be comfortable, so I kept my hands mostly in my pockets. Additional note to self: remember that it is generally ten degrees cooler in Portland or on the sea coast than it is in southern New Hampsha.