After the one night in Rome we were to spend two nights in Venice, three in Florence, including my partners birthday and one final night in Rome before returning home. Our train left early the next morning. At the train station I stopped for a cappuccino. I usually need coffee to jump start my mornings. My partners caffeinatted beverage of choice has always been coke or Pepsi. However, for some unknown reason, he decided that day to try the cappuccino. He took a tiny spoonful of the foam off the top. It was love at first taste. Cappuccinos became commonplace from that point of the trip on. Which might be part of the explanation for my recurrent insomnia during this vacation.
As the train left the station another of the ruins one encounters, located in a seemingly haphazard manner throughout Rome, stood by the tracks. Our train to Venice took us through the vineyards and rolling green hills of the Tuscan countryside. My partner observed that it resembled Wisconsin. I wanted to disagree, but after some thought, realized that it did, indeed resemble Wisconsin. The train took us past the ancient ramparts of Florence. I was mildly disappointed to see that the Duomo, Florence's main cathedral, which was visible from our vantage point, was under renovation. Portions of it were covered by scaffolding and netting. We continued north toward Venice. We almost disembarked one stop too soon. There are two trains stops for Venice. Two young girls we had met on the train thankfully set us to rights. Shortly, we pulled into Venice.
We had decided that we would make the reservation for the next leg of the trip at the station as soon as we arrived. It had worked well in Rome. I went and stood in line to get our train tickets to Florence. As I left the window I saw my partner staring wide eyed, almost hypnotized, through the arched exit of the station taking in the canal at the bottom of the steps outside and the sweep of buildings on the opposite shore.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Roamin' in Rome
The train from the airport into the city passes by a series of high rise apartment buildings. Their balconies are filled with trees and trailing plants which spill over their edges., They are lush and green, soaking up the Italian sun even in these early days of November.
We selected our hotel based on it's close proximity to the train station. Using our city map we lug our luggage through the stone streets stopping once to ask if we were headed in the right direction. Upon finding the hotel we cram ourselves and our luggage into the tiny elevator and travel to the 3rd floor reception desk. Since it is early and our room is not yet ready, we store our bags with the hotel and, using a second map provided by them, with the major attractions clearly marked, we head out.
First up, the Coliseum, a comfortable 20 minute walk from the hotel. As soon as we arrive, we are approached and informed that the final English speaking tour of the inside is about to start. This lets us know 2 things:
#1 The tour is about to start
#2 We do not blend!
We decline the tour deciding to experience the magnificent ruin from the outside bypassing the even more ruined inside. We view the Arch of Constantine, which seems somewhat randomly placed, then proceed to the forum.
The forum is an interesting mix of a millenia old terraced area lined with and traversed by the remains of battered columns. I found myself wishing we had a guide book to the area so that I could fully appreciate my surroundings. Ruins of a massive building with arches stands off to one side. To this day I have no idea what it is. I was able to discern Caesar's grave since the word Caesar in Italian appears much like Caesar in English. I, however, have no idea which Caesar it is.
It is fortunate that the perfectly preserved Senate building has sighs in both English and Italian telling you exactly what it is. It's state of preservation could have to do with the fact that this building was rebuilt after the first burned. This replacement Senate building dates from only 350 A.D., new construction by some Roman standards. We left the area descending the Spanish Steps. We did not know they were the Spanish Steps until our return several days later...please bear in mind that we were extremely jet lagged and had been sleepless for hours at this point.
The Pantheon is a remarkable and iconic structure. It is in a perfect state of preservation from it's front portico to it's high center dome. One can feel particularly insignificant as you enter a door used by countless people over it's 2000 year plus history. The floor was reconstructed in the 19th century, but we were willing to overlook that.
The Pantheon resides on one side of a small, almost cramped plaza accessible only by narrow streets. As you exit the building there is a beautiful church on the right, 16th century as I recall. Other equally venerable buildings ring the rest of the plaza. In one of these, dead ahead of you as you exit the world treasure known as the Pantheon, is a McDonald's. We opted for pasta at a hole in the wall around the corner.
We returned down Rome's ancient streets to our hotel. I've often said that New York City buzzes, while my home city of Chicago hums. Rome shares New York City's buzz, and, frankly, it's somewhat cranky natives, but in a setting anywhere from 500 to over 2000 years old. We collected our bags and took them to our room. Small, with a high ceiling, it's multipaned french window as open and looked out on a airshaft. A little underwhelming for our first room of the trip, but since our train left for Venice at 7:00 a.m. the next morning we would not be spending that much time there.
As daylight faded we decided to venture out once more to see the Trevi Fountain. On our way the lights in the apartments gave us a peek at life in the city. One apartment in particular caught my eye because of the vividly painted beams running across it's ceiling. An occasional chandelier or painting could be spotted proudly wearing a patina of age. We arrived at the fountain and joined the other people there. The couples on the steps, both young and old, enjoying the view of the fountain and the time with one another. Some, like us, at the fountains edge joyfully tossing coins backwards over their heads while making a wish, a tradition in Rome. At night this legendary sight is beautifully lit giving our first look at it an almost magical allure.
We dined on ravioli seated outside at a small restaurant around the corner from the fountain. Surveying the ancient buildings around us I observed that someone sitting where we were 500 years ago would have seen the same sights that we were seeing that night. Except, of course, for the scores of scooters, both parked and racing down the streets like hordes of insects.
Early that morning a light rain passed through awakening me. I can be a notoriously light sleeper. I got up and watched the rain fall outside our room's window for a short time before returning to bed.
We selected our hotel based on it's close proximity to the train station. Using our city map we lug our luggage through the stone streets stopping once to ask if we were headed in the right direction. Upon finding the hotel we cram ourselves and our luggage into the tiny elevator and travel to the 3rd floor reception desk. Since it is early and our room is not yet ready, we store our bags with the hotel and, using a second map provided by them, with the major attractions clearly marked, we head out.
First up, the Coliseum, a comfortable 20 minute walk from the hotel. As soon as we arrive, we are approached and informed that the final English speaking tour of the inside is about to start. This lets us know 2 things:
#1 The tour is about to start
#2 We do not blend!
We decline the tour deciding to experience the magnificent ruin from the outside bypassing the even more ruined inside. We view the Arch of Constantine, which seems somewhat randomly placed, then proceed to the forum.
The forum is an interesting mix of a millenia old terraced area lined with and traversed by the remains of battered columns. I found myself wishing we had a guide book to the area so that I could fully appreciate my surroundings. Ruins of a massive building with arches stands off to one side. To this day I have no idea what it is. I was able to discern Caesar's grave since the word Caesar in Italian appears much like Caesar in English. I, however, have no idea which Caesar it is.
It is fortunate that the perfectly preserved Senate building has sighs in both English and Italian telling you exactly what it is. It's state of preservation could have to do with the fact that this building was rebuilt after the first burned. This replacement Senate building dates from only 350 A.D., new construction by some Roman standards. We left the area descending the Spanish Steps. We did not know they were the Spanish Steps until our return several days later...please bear in mind that we were extremely jet lagged and had been sleepless for hours at this point.
The Pantheon is a remarkable and iconic structure. It is in a perfect state of preservation from it's front portico to it's high center dome. One can feel particularly insignificant as you enter a door used by countless people over it's 2000 year plus history. The floor was reconstructed in the 19th century, but we were willing to overlook that.
The Pantheon resides on one side of a small, almost cramped plaza accessible only by narrow streets. As you exit the building there is a beautiful church on the right, 16th century as I recall. Other equally venerable buildings ring the rest of the plaza. In one of these, dead ahead of you as you exit the world treasure known as the Pantheon, is a McDonald's. We opted for pasta at a hole in the wall around the corner.
We returned down Rome's ancient streets to our hotel. I've often said that New York City buzzes, while my home city of Chicago hums. Rome shares New York City's buzz, and, frankly, it's somewhat cranky natives, but in a setting anywhere from 500 to over 2000 years old. We collected our bags and took them to our room. Small, with a high ceiling, it's multipaned french window as open and looked out on a airshaft. A little underwhelming for our first room of the trip, but since our train left for Venice at 7:00 a.m. the next morning we would not be spending that much time there.
As daylight faded we decided to venture out once more to see the Trevi Fountain. On our way the lights in the apartments gave us a peek at life in the city. One apartment in particular caught my eye because of the vividly painted beams running across it's ceiling. An occasional chandelier or painting could be spotted proudly wearing a patina of age. We arrived at the fountain and joined the other people there. The couples on the steps, both young and old, enjoying the view of the fountain and the time with one another. Some, like us, at the fountains edge joyfully tossing coins backwards over their heads while making a wish, a tradition in Rome. At night this legendary sight is beautifully lit giving our first look at it an almost magical allure.
We dined on ravioli seated outside at a small restaurant around the corner from the fountain. Surveying the ancient buildings around us I observed that someone sitting where we were 500 years ago would have seen the same sights that we were seeing that night. Except, of course, for the scores of scooters, both parked and racing down the streets like hordes of insects.
Early that morning a light rain passed through awakening me. I can be a notoriously light sleeper. I got up and watched the rain fall outside our room's window for a short time before returning to bed.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Florence and Venice and Rome, Oh My!
Obtaining passports was our first order of buisiness. My partners application was processed promptly and he received his passport within a month. Getting mine proved to be somewhat more problemactic. Due to a snafu with my last name, the stringient policies of the U.S. post 2001 and inept employees at the passport agency, it took some time, and several irate phone calls before mine was finally processed and in my hand. At one point, they were requesting 3 I.D.'s, all containing a photo and signature. Some of the options were, a passport (!!?!??!), nilitary I.D., I am a pacifist and have been openly gay since my late teens or a student I.D., I was 48 at the time. I have resolved since that time to never let my passport expire!
All travel arrangements were booked online. This is always a gamble since pictures of hotels and rooms tend to be "edited" to show the properties in their best light. We have since become somewhat more savvy regarding online booking but at this point we were still somewhat new and green to the process.
In November the flights overseas are less numerous than during the summer months. To get to Rome from Chicago required a stop in Toronto. So we had to fly north to travel south, coming and going.
Our departure date arrived and we headed to the airport for our flight(s). Once we landed in Toronto an airport worker, seeing us walking through the terminal, graciously offered us a lift on the back of her motorized cart. After going through security a second time we settled into seats in the shuttle that wopuld take us to the terminal where we would catch our flight to Rome. I looked around and asked my partner "Where is your carry on?" He realized that he had left it at the checkpoint we had just gone through.We raced back, retrieved it and caught another shuttle, arriving at the gate with just minutes to spare.
Flying over the Atlantic is tedious. Flying over the Atlantic at night is even more tedious. Somewhat sleep deprived, we arrived in Rome.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Do You Canoe?
I am aqua phobic. I have been for as long as I can remember. While I have overcome this fear enough to paddle around in a pool or take a cool, refreshing dunk in Lake Michigan on a searing hot summer day, I still will not, willingly, put my head underwater, other than a shower. And, while I have been rolled by an occasional large wave playing in the ocean along Mexico's Pacific Coast, therefore finding my head underwater, the act was not purposeful and is a tale for another day.
With this in mind, when my partner suggested we spend an afternoon canoeing down a river on a camping trip in Michigan, I remember replying something like "ARE YOU MAD!!!" I'm paraphrasing here. I believe I said much the same thing when he first suggested the camping trip. I only relented to remind myself the extent to which I loathed sleeping in a tent when perfectly serviceable motels are nearby. Aside from the hard ground and lack of personal hygiene facilities, bugs love me. Regardless of how much insect repellent I slather on, as evening falls insects flock to the point where I begin to look like I am traveling about in the center of a buzzing fog. Let it be said, here and now, nature and I have our differences.
I do not remember how in convinced me to partake in this aquatic adventure or why I finally agreed to it, but I soon found myself inside a metal boat resembling an oversized gray banana with a red plastic oar in my hand.
It was determined that he would sit in back and use his oar as a rudder to steer the damn thing, while I would sit in front and use my oar to propel us forward when the current was not strong enough to do so. I was also to help keep us on course through the level 1 and 2 rapids we would encounter on our trip down the river.
It was mid August and the river was shallow. Time and the heat of the summer had tamed the rumbling torrent it became in spring when the snow melted filling it's now dry and rocky bed with cool, clear, icy water. A faint line along each of it's banks bore witness to the depth and volume of it at it's peak, but now, at this time of year, it carried us gently and languidly down it's course.
The river's world was quiet and tranquil. A hawk flew overhead and landed among the gray weathered branches of a dead tree which stood along the river's bank. Occasionally tiny fish could be seen swimming past or underneath us.
The first rapids we came across were small and easy to navigate. My partner had instructed me to guide the canoe through the center of the "V" formed by the water as it tumbled over and around the slick, moss covered river rocks. The river's banks would transition between barren rocks and small sand beaches to thick stands of tress which provided welcome cool shade under their overhanging branches.
We stopped and pulled the canoe up onto one of these beaches near our campsite to rest and eat the lunch we had brought with us. My partner had doubted my claim of being an insect magnet. A bee came along giving me an opportunity to prove my point. It immediately flew towards me and began to buzz around my head. "Watch this", I said. Slowly, quietly, I moved several feet away. The bee flew in circles for a moment, then came towards me and resumed it's orbit around me. Slowly, quietly, I moved again, further away this time. The bee followed. I have discovered over the years that covering my head will make an insect lose interest in me. I wrapped a towel around my head and the bee moved on about it's business. From that day on, my partner has understood a portion of my aversion to the great outdoors, at least during fly, bee or mosquito season. We pushed the canoe back in the river and continued on.
The water became deeper and the rapids increased in their ferocity. The metal sides of the canoe clanked as they struck the rocks the water swirled and raged around., Ahead of us a tree branch reached out low across a particularly deep and fierce section of the rapids. I bent over double and went under the branch with only an inch to spare. Then the canoe stopped. The first thought that I had was that my partner in the back had not bent over in time and I would turn around to find him wrapped around the limb miles from any medical help. Cells phones were not ubiquious then as they are now. As I turned I saw him grasping the branch with both hands. He had put his oar up between him and it at the last second. As I struggled to keep the front of the boat steady he "walked" along the branch with his hands until he had maneuvered himself to a point where he could safely pass under it.
After that close call the waters began to calm and the river returned to it's former, more shallow state. A tiny mammal climbed out of the river unto the bank as we passed. We reached a dam where we would have to portage the canoe which signaled that we were neat the end of our journey.
The canoe rental agent met us on the bank and hoisted the canoe into his van as we returned to our rental car. We had traveled only 7 miles as the crow flies but had covered 21 river miles that afternoon. As we drove off a family of deer appeared at the edge of the forest almost as if bidding us farewell.
With this in mind, when my partner suggested we spend an afternoon canoeing down a river on a camping trip in Michigan, I remember replying something like "ARE YOU MAD!!!" I'm paraphrasing here. I believe I said much the same thing when he first suggested the camping trip. I only relented to remind myself the extent to which I loathed sleeping in a tent when perfectly serviceable motels are nearby. Aside from the hard ground and lack of personal hygiene facilities, bugs love me. Regardless of how much insect repellent I slather on, as evening falls insects flock to the point where I begin to look like I am traveling about in the center of a buzzing fog. Let it be said, here and now, nature and I have our differences.
I do not remember how in convinced me to partake in this aquatic adventure or why I finally agreed to it, but I soon found myself inside a metal boat resembling an oversized gray banana with a red plastic oar in my hand.
It was determined that he would sit in back and use his oar as a rudder to steer the damn thing, while I would sit in front and use my oar to propel us forward when the current was not strong enough to do so. I was also to help keep us on course through the level 1 and 2 rapids we would encounter on our trip down the river.
It was mid August and the river was shallow. Time and the heat of the summer had tamed the rumbling torrent it became in spring when the snow melted filling it's now dry and rocky bed with cool, clear, icy water. A faint line along each of it's banks bore witness to the depth and volume of it at it's peak, but now, at this time of year, it carried us gently and languidly down it's course.
The river's world was quiet and tranquil. A hawk flew overhead and landed among the gray weathered branches of a dead tree which stood along the river's bank. Occasionally tiny fish could be seen swimming past or underneath us.
The first rapids we came across were small and easy to navigate. My partner had instructed me to guide the canoe through the center of the "V" formed by the water as it tumbled over and around the slick, moss covered river rocks. The river's banks would transition between barren rocks and small sand beaches to thick stands of tress which provided welcome cool shade under their overhanging branches.
We stopped and pulled the canoe up onto one of these beaches near our campsite to rest and eat the lunch we had brought with us. My partner had doubted my claim of being an insect magnet. A bee came along giving me an opportunity to prove my point. It immediately flew towards me and began to buzz around my head. "Watch this", I said. Slowly, quietly, I moved several feet away. The bee flew in circles for a moment, then came towards me and resumed it's orbit around me. Slowly, quietly, I moved again, further away this time. The bee followed. I have discovered over the years that covering my head will make an insect lose interest in me. I wrapped a towel around my head and the bee moved on about it's business. From that day on, my partner has understood a portion of my aversion to the great outdoors, at least during fly, bee or mosquito season. We pushed the canoe back in the river and continued on.
The water became deeper and the rapids increased in their ferocity. The metal sides of the canoe clanked as they struck the rocks the water swirled and raged around., Ahead of us a tree branch reached out low across a particularly deep and fierce section of the rapids. I bent over double and went under the branch with only an inch to spare. Then the canoe stopped. The first thought that I had was that my partner in the back had not bent over in time and I would turn around to find him wrapped around the limb miles from any medical help. Cells phones were not ubiquious then as they are now. As I turned I saw him grasping the branch with both hands. He had put his oar up between him and it at the last second. As I struggled to keep the front of the boat steady he "walked" along the branch with his hands until he had maneuvered himself to a point where he could safely pass under it.
After that close call the waters began to calm and the river returned to it's former, more shallow state. A tiny mammal climbed out of the river unto the bank as we passed. We reached a dam where we would have to portage the canoe which signaled that we were neat the end of our journey.
The canoe rental agent met us on the bank and hoisted the canoe into his van as we returned to our rental car. We had traveled only 7 miles as the crow flies but had covered 21 river miles that afternoon. As we drove off a family of deer appeared at the edge of the forest almost as if bidding us farewell.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Road Trip - Cedar Point on Mother's Day
The next day is Mother's Day and we head to Cedar Point Amusement Park, known for it's world class collection of roller coasters. Lest you think that we are bad sons, I should say my mother has been gone for a number of years and my travel partner phoned his at the beginning of the trip and set up a date when we return to assist her in her spring gardening, her request for Mother's Day.
Because of the extraordinary winds that day, some of the roller coasters were not open due to safety concerns. The two wooden ones located near the rear of the park that I had looked forward to riding were not yet open this early in the season. The winds were so strong we are forced to change in the car from shorts and tees into long pants and shirts with sleeves. The trash cans in the park are weighted at the bottom to keep them from tipping over. The winds are pushing them, standing up, down the midways making them appear to have come to life exercising a will of their own.
One ride closed is called the Millennium. This roller coaster's first hill is equivalent in height to a 30 story building. After a long, steep drop it ascends the 2nd hill, equal to a 20 story building. It reaches speeds of 120 mph. My friend mentions that he is glad that it's closed. This way he doesn't have to feel like a wimp for not riding it.
It being Mother's Day and fairly early in the season, attendance at the park is light and lines were short allowing us multiple visits to some of the attractions. When visiting amusement parks with this particular friend one of our first stops is the Scrambler, his favorite type of ride. Having gotten that out of our systems it was time to tackle one of the roller coasters the park is famous for. Our initial choice is tall, white and fairly traditional in form and design. Located near the shoreline it affords you an expansive view of Lake Erie just prior to plunging you down, then twisting you up, around and upside down along it's white track. My friend, seated next to me, declares "oh shit" several times over the duration of the ride. Gluttons for punishment, we returned for a 2nd ride later in the day.
Another roller coaster we visited twice caries you up and over one of the midways that cut through the park. Just as you think the ride is near it's end you feel a chain grip the car dragging it up a hill then releasing it for another go round of flipping and winding relying solely on the laws of gravity and physics.
The majority of people in the park that day appeared to be in their late teens. While standing in line I notice glitter in the matted, windblown hair of one of the girls. I realize that may of the teens may be in the midst of their "all nighters" after their proms the evening before.
The longest line we stood in was for the indoor roller coaster. Neither of us had ridden one before. In this case the anticipation proves to be greater then the actual experience. I realize that, for me, part of the excitement is watching the world speed past you and then having your field of vision turned upside down. The experience of being flung around in the dark is interesting but we both agreed afterward that it verges on lame.
By late afternoon we are fairly spent, having arrived early in the day. We realize that if we departed at this point we would reach Chicago at a reasonable hour saving us the cost of a hotel that night. As we make our way out of the park we pass another ride closed that day due to the unrelenting winds. It is called Superman. It is a hanging roller coaster. It occurs to me as we pass that it's track resembles a long oversized strand of kryptonite green spaghetti.
We pause for a photo op at the park gate. In the photo, the digital sign above our heads reads 52 degrees. It does not indicate the wind chill.
Because of the extraordinary winds that day, some of the roller coasters were not open due to safety concerns. The two wooden ones located near the rear of the park that I had looked forward to riding were not yet open this early in the season. The winds were so strong we are forced to change in the car from shorts and tees into long pants and shirts with sleeves. The trash cans in the park are weighted at the bottom to keep them from tipping over. The winds are pushing them, standing up, down the midways making them appear to have come to life exercising a will of their own.
One ride closed is called the Millennium. This roller coaster's first hill is equivalent in height to a 30 story building. After a long, steep drop it ascends the 2nd hill, equal to a 20 story building. It reaches speeds of 120 mph. My friend mentions that he is glad that it's closed. This way he doesn't have to feel like a wimp for not riding it.
It being Mother's Day and fairly early in the season, attendance at the park is light and lines were short allowing us multiple visits to some of the attractions. When visiting amusement parks with this particular friend one of our first stops is the Scrambler, his favorite type of ride. Having gotten that out of our systems it was time to tackle one of the roller coasters the park is famous for. Our initial choice is tall, white and fairly traditional in form and design. Located near the shoreline it affords you an expansive view of Lake Erie just prior to plunging you down, then twisting you up, around and upside down along it's white track. My friend, seated next to me, declares "oh shit" several times over the duration of the ride. Gluttons for punishment, we returned for a 2nd ride later in the day.
Another roller coaster we visited twice caries you up and over one of the midways that cut through the park. Just as you think the ride is near it's end you feel a chain grip the car dragging it up a hill then releasing it for another go round of flipping and winding relying solely on the laws of gravity and physics.
The majority of people in the park that day appeared to be in their late teens. While standing in line I notice glitter in the matted, windblown hair of one of the girls. I realize that may of the teens may be in the midst of their "all nighters" after their proms the evening before.
The longest line we stood in was for the indoor roller coaster. Neither of us had ridden one before. In this case the anticipation proves to be greater then the actual experience. I realize that, for me, part of the excitement is watching the world speed past you and then having your field of vision turned upside down. The experience of being flung around in the dark is interesting but we both agreed afterward that it verges on lame.
By late afternoon we are fairly spent, having arrived early in the day. We realize that if we departed at this point we would reach Chicago at a reasonable hour saving us the cost of a hotel that night. As we make our way out of the park we pass another ride closed that day due to the unrelenting winds. It is called Superman. It is a hanging roller coaster. It occurs to me as we pass that it's track resembles a long oversized strand of kryptonite green spaghetti.
We pause for a photo op at the park gate. In the photo, the digital sign above our heads reads 52 degrees. It does not indicate the wind chill.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Road Trip - Next Stop Cleveland
We did not have high expectations of Pittsburgh, so we were not disappointed. We had low expectations for Cleveland, so we were presently surprised. Cleveland has been the butt of scores of jokes over the years. A polyester leisure suit with white patent belt and matching shoes was, at one time, referred to as the "Full Cleveland". Then there's that river that runs through the city, so polluted that it used to catch on fire.
We arrive early in the afternoon so decide to while away some time in the National Park just outside the city. When we first enter the park we encounter a tranquil forest where the afternoon sun filters down through the trees. We also encounter a small antique shop so we park and shop.
Continuing on, we come upon a path which winds through massive, moss dappled stones. The path leads us to a high meadow, a large field of wild green grass with spring wildflowers adding patches of color. As we make our return to the car we stop at an information board where a small waterfall is pictured. We take notes of it's location and head towards it.
When we get to the falls we find a torrent of raging water, quite unlike the gentle stream in the photo that enticed us here. The concrete observation platform vibrates under our feet from the force of the water pouring over the ledge. Locals informed us that Ohio had been receiving record rains resulting in flooding, as well as the ferocious nature of the falls that day. We stayed awhile becoming mesmerized by the power of the frothing water.
As we drive into Cleveland proper, my traveling partner explains his method for discovering gay hot spots in any given city. Stop at the first gay, or gay appearing establishment you come to, preferably retail or restaurant. Chatting up the people within will inform you of the other gay life in town. We find a shop selling leather clothes and "sexual aides" flying a rainbow flag from a staff on the front of the building. This strikes us both as a promising place to begin our inquiries.
We score! The proprietor gives us much information and a magazine with names and addresses of the gay bars in town as well as a description, of sorts, for each We locate a motel, the chain with the bear in the nightshirt and cap as it's trademark, in an area called Edgewater.
To this day, I do not know if Edgewater is a suburb of Cleveland or a neighborhood in it. Even people I have since encountered from Cleveland seem uncertain. The area is a pleasant, welcoming mixture of mid century homes and modest two story apartment buildings sporting small tidy lawns. The "main drag" in the area is a short stroll away from the motel. It is a broad street lined with funky vintage shops, oddball boutiques and an assortment of bars, some of which are mentioned in the magazine we were given, and restaurants. We spend time shopping and stop for dinner at a Greek restaurant on the strip.
After stopping by our room we pick up the car and head to one of the leather bars in the city. We pass through an area next to the river where the late 19th century warehouses have been reinvented as apartments and chic upscale eating and drinking establishments. The concept well realized but has an elitist edge I find off putting.
We get to our destination and enter the bar. Going through a hallway we find ourselves in the backyard portion of the bar. It is a pleasant spring evening so the outdoor portion of this particular establishment is open. The indoor portion appears not to be. An exceedingly average shirtless bartender serves drinks. We sit off to the side and observe the fetishwear parade as it passes to and fro in the yard. My friend mentions that one man's codpiece sells for $400. I don't pay that for a suit, and that covers a lot more than the leather and metal contraption which holds this man's genitals.
After a time we decide to press on. We return to the motel, drop off the car and return to the street where we had dinner. Earlier we had spotted a bar there. It had been implied that it was the place to go before heading to dance clubs, etc. for the night. It is a large two story place, and, it being Saturday night. is packed. A handsome bartender, whose massive rippling arms and huge defined pectorals are clad in a skin tight tee shirt bearing the bars name serves us. His broad chest makes him resemble a billboard for the bar.
Once again, we become aware that we were the new meat in town due to the excessive amount of attention being paid to us. However, this crowd is quite a bit more attractive the what we encountered in Pittsburgh so the experience is not at all unpleasant.
We cruised, we flirted, we drank and then we returned to the motel and went to bed.
We arrive early in the afternoon so decide to while away some time in the National Park just outside the city. When we first enter the park we encounter a tranquil forest where the afternoon sun filters down through the trees. We also encounter a small antique shop so we park and shop.
Continuing on, we come upon a path which winds through massive, moss dappled stones. The path leads us to a high meadow, a large field of wild green grass with spring wildflowers adding patches of color. As we make our return to the car we stop at an information board where a small waterfall is pictured. We take notes of it's location and head towards it.
When we get to the falls we find a torrent of raging water, quite unlike the gentle stream in the photo that enticed us here. The concrete observation platform vibrates under our feet from the force of the water pouring over the ledge. Locals informed us that Ohio had been receiving record rains resulting in flooding, as well as the ferocious nature of the falls that day. We stayed awhile becoming mesmerized by the power of the frothing water.
As we drive into Cleveland proper, my traveling partner explains his method for discovering gay hot spots in any given city. Stop at the first gay, or gay appearing establishment you come to, preferably retail or restaurant. Chatting up the people within will inform you of the other gay life in town. We find a shop selling leather clothes and "sexual aides" flying a rainbow flag from a staff on the front of the building. This strikes us both as a promising place to begin our inquiries.
We score! The proprietor gives us much information and a magazine with names and addresses of the gay bars in town as well as a description, of sorts, for each We locate a motel, the chain with the bear in the nightshirt and cap as it's trademark, in an area called Edgewater.
To this day, I do not know if Edgewater is a suburb of Cleveland or a neighborhood in it. Even people I have since encountered from Cleveland seem uncertain. The area is a pleasant, welcoming mixture of mid century homes and modest two story apartment buildings sporting small tidy lawns. The "main drag" in the area is a short stroll away from the motel. It is a broad street lined with funky vintage shops, oddball boutiques and an assortment of bars, some of which are mentioned in the magazine we were given, and restaurants. We spend time shopping and stop for dinner at a Greek restaurant on the strip.
After stopping by our room we pick up the car and head to one of the leather bars in the city. We pass through an area next to the river where the late 19th century warehouses have been reinvented as apartments and chic upscale eating and drinking establishments. The concept well realized but has an elitist edge I find off putting.
We get to our destination and enter the bar. Going through a hallway we find ourselves in the backyard portion of the bar. It is a pleasant spring evening so the outdoor portion of this particular establishment is open. The indoor portion appears not to be. An exceedingly average shirtless bartender serves drinks. We sit off to the side and observe the fetishwear parade as it passes to and fro in the yard. My friend mentions that one man's codpiece sells for $400. I don't pay that for a suit, and that covers a lot more than the leather and metal contraption which holds this man's genitals.
After a time we decide to press on. We return to the motel, drop off the car and return to the street where we had dinner. Earlier we had spotted a bar there. It had been implied that it was the place to go before heading to dance clubs, etc. for the night. It is a large two story place, and, it being Saturday night. is packed. A handsome bartender, whose massive rippling arms and huge defined pectorals are clad in a skin tight tee shirt bearing the bars name serves us. His broad chest makes him resemble a billboard for the bar.
Once again, we become aware that we were the new meat in town due to the excessive amount of attention being paid to us. However, this crowd is quite a bit more attractive the what we encountered in Pittsburgh so the experience is not at all unpleasant.
We cruised, we flirted, we drank and then we returned to the motel and went to bed.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Road Trip - Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Cedar Point
Witness the city of Pittsburgh, where two rivers meet to form a third. Our time there was brief. Perhaps best described as a drive through. Although we did park, get out of the car and walk around a bit.
To get to Pittsburgh when traveling, like we were, from West Virginia, one must go through a tunnel. I assume it goes under one of the rivers, but being inside of it I could not say for certain.
My understanding is that on the bluffs across one of the rivers are renovated historic homes which overlook the downtown "V". Our tight time frame, however, did not allow for a visit to this part of the city. Imposing stone office and financial buildings, often classically inspired, dot the area near the small end of the "V". As the "V" widens we found streets lined with narrow row houses. Though prosperous in the past, the city has had it's share of hard knocks. The modest, somewhat shabby condition of these homes are evidence of this. They seem sturdy but tired, like one who has been asked to work too long for too little. Across one of the rivers the new baseball stadium is visible. It's upper decks appear almost terrifying in their verticallity.
We somehow track down a gay bar. As it is Friday, just after many people have left work, it is packed with men getting an early start on their weekend. The crowd is most kindly described as motley. We do not stay for a drink but grab a local gay publication to use as a guide and hightail it out of there.
In many smaller cities gay men know, at least by sight, all other gay men in town. When you enter all eyes turn to you. You are new meat, unfamiliar, this was another reason for our hasty retreat. Deeming the few hotels in town too expensive, we decide to head outside the city in hopes of finding lodging that is more affordable.
We cross a bridge to the side of the river that contains the stadium. Here empty lots share space with once grand and beautiful victorian mansions, now cut up into apartments, which are falling into ruin and decay. About 30 minutes outside of town we find a small motel with rooms priced well within our budget.
We decide our Pittsburgh gay bar experience will consist of a visit to The Pittsburgh Eagle, in large part because it is the bar located nearest to us. In all, I have visited 4 of the Eagle bars across the country. They are, for the record, San Francisco, many times during my years there, Pittsburgh, Phoenix and Chicago, again more that once since I now live there. The Chicago bar no longer exists. I understand the Phoenix bar has also closed. I do not know the fate of the other two. The bar is housed in an old building which sits across from a highway overpass. I seem to remember the area as being almost uninhabited outside of the bar. It had tin ceilings, 2 floors and not a lot going on. After 2 drinks we decide to cut our losses and return to the motel to rest up for the next leg of our trip.
To get to Pittsburgh when traveling, like we were, from West Virginia, one must go through a tunnel. I assume it goes under one of the rivers, but being inside of it I could not say for certain.
My understanding is that on the bluffs across one of the rivers are renovated historic homes which overlook the downtown "V". Our tight time frame, however, did not allow for a visit to this part of the city. Imposing stone office and financial buildings, often classically inspired, dot the area near the small end of the "V". As the "V" widens we found streets lined with narrow row houses. Though prosperous in the past, the city has had it's share of hard knocks. The modest, somewhat shabby condition of these homes are evidence of this. They seem sturdy but tired, like one who has been asked to work too long for too little. Across one of the rivers the new baseball stadium is visible. It's upper decks appear almost terrifying in their verticallity.
We somehow track down a gay bar. As it is Friday, just after many people have left work, it is packed with men getting an early start on their weekend. The crowd is most kindly described as motley. We do not stay for a drink but grab a local gay publication to use as a guide and hightail it out of there.
In many smaller cities gay men know, at least by sight, all other gay men in town. When you enter all eyes turn to you. You are new meat, unfamiliar, this was another reason for our hasty retreat. Deeming the few hotels in town too expensive, we decide to head outside the city in hopes of finding lodging that is more affordable.
We cross a bridge to the side of the river that contains the stadium. Here empty lots share space with once grand and beautiful victorian mansions, now cut up into apartments, which are falling into ruin and decay. About 30 minutes outside of town we find a small motel with rooms priced well within our budget.
We decide our Pittsburgh gay bar experience will consist of a visit to The Pittsburgh Eagle, in large part because it is the bar located nearest to us. In all, I have visited 4 of the Eagle bars across the country. They are, for the record, San Francisco, many times during my years there, Pittsburgh, Phoenix and Chicago, again more that once since I now live there. The Chicago bar no longer exists. I understand the Phoenix bar has also closed. I do not know the fate of the other two. The bar is housed in an old building which sits across from a highway overpass. I seem to remember the area as being almost uninhabited outside of the bar. It had tin ceilings, 2 floors and not a lot going on. After 2 drinks we decide to cut our losses and return to the motel to rest up for the next leg of our trip.
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