Maine 2016 - Day 2 - From York County to New York

6/26/16, “From York County to New York”

En route, I-87 S, New York (New York State Thruway)

Our trip now draws to a close, and the entirety of today consisted of making our way from York County in Maine back to New York.  We will end our time together in Scarsdale, New York, but I will be back home in New York City tonight after I watch the finale of Game of Thrones.  As we drove, yesterday, without internet access, we discussed how the origin of the names of the original thirteen colonies and their capitals came about.  Georgia, the Carolinas, Virginia, and Maryland were all named after British Monarchs.  New York, of course, was named after York in England, likewise the county of York in Maine.

Our hotel in Ogunquit was also in York County.  I had decided that I wanted to be able to say “York County Complete” before we made our way back to New York.  The requirements for saying that phrase was a meal, a cigar, the county government building, and all five National Historic Landmarks in the county.  After that, all I wanted to do was drive to Albany to see the New York State Capitol before going back to Scarsdale for Game of Thrones.

It was tight, and we might not even arrive home in time for the beginning of the episode, in which case I am faced with the difficult choice of missing the beginning, watching on delay, or watching the beginning on my phone, none of which are good options.  The last seems the best of the bad options.  It has been an adventurous day, but I just want to be in front of that TV screen.

After I closed last night, I went straight to sleep, and we woke up a little after 8 AM, getting out the door at 9:30 AM.  I had chosen a breakfast place for us, where I could get dishes consisting of the Maine fixtures of blueberries and lobster.  We had trouble parking, and there was no table available for us, so we walked to the beach to take some pictures while we waited.

It was 10 AM when we sat down, and that meant the timing would now be very tight.  We also had trouble figuring out what to order, but, in the end, I got exactly what I expected to get: coffee, a lobster omelet, and a single blueberry pancake with fresh blueberry syrup.  Every bit of the meal was delicious, and it was quite filling.  After our meal, we went across the street to a gift shop, and, by the time we were done there, it was 11 AM.

We had about 8 hours of driving (if we took the scenic route, as Connor wanted to drive through Vermont), which meant we had only had 2 hours of “Dutch Time” allocated, to use a phrase I haven’t used in a while, in reference to my delays the morning I left Amsterdam three hours ago.  Yes, it was going to be a “Munich Run”, again, in reference to the day I drove to Munich on that same trip.  Our first stop was the county government building in Alfred.  We took our ceremonial picture there, and I lit up my biggest cigar, an Aroma de Cuba, with the intention of it lasting until we had visited all five NHLs, and I was able to say, “York County Complete.”

I will not go into the details of the sites we saw, instead only briefly recounting the adventure.  The first stop was the Sarah Orne Jewett House, the home of the famed author.  Our second stop was The Hamilton House, which served as the inspiration for one of her novels.  From there, it was McIntire Garrison House, which had no services and was basically in somebody’s backyard.  Next was the Old York Gaol, which is self-explanatory.  The last site was the Lady Pepperrell House, which, also, was someone’s home.  We parked across the street at the Parish House, and we walked up to this house, which had a Plaque outside.  We took our ceremonial pictures, and I said, “Well, that’s all of them.”  My friend, preempting me, announced, “York Country Completed.”  Confirming his sentiment, I said, “Yup, York County Complete.”

Since he wanted to drive the scenic route, I let him drive the rest of the trip.  I spent the trip vigorously calculating and recalculating the driving time.  With stops for gas and maple syrup and a few minutes at the Capitol, it was starting to look like it’d be a photo finish, and we’d need to drive straight to my parents’ house in Scarsdale, rather than dropping off the car first.  I lit up a Camacho, and we stopped for snacks after the first cigar.  I then lit up a Cabaiguan, but we were almost immediately over the Vermont border.  This was Connor’s first trip to New England, and we passed through every state but Rhode Island over the course of the trip.  Once we were over the border, we stopped so he could get some maple syrup to bring home, and I got some local cheese and coffee to go with the rest of my cigar.

After my cigar, we stopped for gas at a Gulf station with old-fashioned pumps.  I had to go inside to pay for gas, and I could not resist a small maple cream chocolate.  I then lit up a La Imperiosa, which brought us the rest of the way to Albany.  Timing was as tight as it could get, and we would only have five minutes to take pictures at the Capitol Building.  Fortunately, there were parking spots right aside.

Everything about the architecture in Albany was so beautiful, all the Victorian buildings, especially the Capitol Building.  I had only previously been here in the dark, so this was my first day-lit picture.  It also meant I now had a proper picture in front of every State Capitol in the northeast.  When I got to North Carolina next year, it will represent the State Capitols of all of the original thirteen colonies.  Adding in my trip to West Virginia in a month, it will only leave four State Capitols east of the Mississippi: Florida (Tallahassee), Alabama (Birmingham), Tennessee (Nashville, though I have been to the city twice without visiting the Capitol Building I don’t think), and Michigan (Lansing?).  We took our ceremonial pictures in front of the Capitol Building and got back in the car as I posted them to social media.

That was that.  We would be facing a tight drive back to Scarsdale, but the timing now looks good.  I sat down in the car and lit up a Ramon Allones.  Once we got on I-87, I grabbed my laptop and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close and hope that all the gods, the old gods and the new gods, allows us to arrive in time for Game of Thrones.  With that, I will also close out this trip, since I am no longer in control of the return journey.  It has been a very enjoyable trip to the beautiful state of Maine, and I look forward very much to repeating this trip this time next year and in future years.  Next stop: the Canadian Maritime Provinces for Fourth of July weekend.

Maine 2016 - Day 1 - From End to End

6/25/16, “From End to End”

Fort Kent, Maine

We have spent the entire day today, seven hours including stops, driving Maine from end to end.  You can’t drive any further north into Maine.  This picture from where I’m sitting?  That’s Canada.  Right across the river is the Canadian province of New Brunswick.  Next weekend I will be in a different part of New Brunswick (along with Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island), but we did not bring our passports with us today, so we will just be gazing off at Canada before we turn around and drive right back down until we get back to Ogunquit tonight.  We are at the northern terminus of US-1.  We could drive this road straight to Key West, if we were so inclined.  Why do I go to Maine this weekend every year?  It’s for moments like this.

2013, this Saturday, I was at West Quoddy Head, and I saw the sunrise from the easternmost point in the continental US.  Everyone else in the continental US was to my west at that moment.  2014, I climbed Mars Hill to see the first sunrise of the summer.  I saw the sun rise that morning before anyone else in the continental US did.  Last year was less interesting when I drove from Augusta, Maine to Hancock, New Hampshire, but I was able to stop along the way to meet up with an old friend I hadn’t seen in a very long time.  Today, I am as far north as you can drive in Maine without getting into Canada.  Next year, who knows what Maine 2017 will entail, but I can be sure it will epic again.

After I closed last night, I had trouble falling asleep, and it was past 7 AM when I woke up, which meant it was likely this site would be our only activity for the day.  There were some other National Historic Landmarks I wanted to see, but this was the one that was most intriguing, in no small part due to its geographical location at the north tip of Maine.  My friend went down to get breakfast, as I had no appetite, and I took care of checking in formally to the hotel.  I gave him the keys, and we got on the road, almost immediately getting on I-95 N.

If we followed I-95 N all the way, it would bring us to New Brunswick, which was the route I took when I was here in October 2014 to see Fredericton.  Instead, we would be taking US-11 to Fort Kent.  I rested while my friend drove, and, after a couple of hours, I opened my eyes to the familiar tree-lined roadway.  I asked my friend if the view had changed.  It had not.

We soon stopped for a bathroom break at a roadside diner called 95 Diner, which had all sorts of highway signs inside for the décor.  We got some chicken fingers and blueberry crumb pie.  After the chicken fingers, we lit up our cigars, a Herrera Esteli TAA exclusive for me, and a Leaf for him.  Meanwhile, we played Disney music for the drive.  After the TAA, I had some of the crumb pie, which was as delicious as it sounds.  I then lit up a Fuente.

We stopped again for gas about an hour from Fort Kent, and we soon arrived.  We came across the Canadian border, which was next to the mileage marker for the beginning of US-1.  We took some ceremonial pictures there and enjoyed the vista of Canada.

We opted for the diner for lunch, and I got a double bacon cheeseburger and onion rings, along with some coffee, which is actually more of a typical Maine meal than lobster is.  We could see Canada from the lunch table.

After lunch, we walked down the road to the eponymous fort, the main reason we drove up here in the first place (besides the geographic reasons).  It is a National Historic Landmark, and the fort was built in the mid-19^th Century during a bloodless border dispute with Canada, called the Aroostook War.  It led to border between Maine (and other states) and New Brunswick (and other territories) being drawn at this river, the St. John’s River.  I had lit up an Hoyo de Monterrey as we walked, and we got some souvenirs at the little gift shop.  We took our ceremonial pictures at the fort before we walked around inside.

We then walked back to the car, and I got my laptop before heading back to the riverbank, where I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, while my friend walked around the riverbank.  We have a long drive back to Ogunquit, and it is my turn to drive.  Dinner in Ogunquit will probably be our next and last stop of the day.

Ogunquit, Maine

I suppose there is not much to report to close out today’s entry, otherwise than a boring drive back from Fort Kent and one of the best meals I’ve ever had in Maine, which is saying a lot, since I’ve had quite a few great meals in this state over the course of my many trips here.  There is nothing like Maine lobster, and eating it in Maine, in whatever form it takes, is always a special experience.

While this trip has been a very familiar experience, to my friend, it is full of firsts.  It is the first time he has been to New England, the first time he’s eaten lobster, the furthest north he’s ever been.  That last bit surprised me the most, since we were actually south of Seattle even at the northernmost part of Maine.  He had never been.  We weren’t even north of Paris, but furthest north in Europe he had been was Turin, Italy.

I believe most of my readers will be surprised to learn that Rome is actually south of New York City.  The entire geography of Europe is significantly further north than similar climates in the United States.  Miami, which is of a similar climate as Spain, is actually at the same latitude as Dubai.  As I have mentioned, today we travelled Maine from end to end, slightly more than equivalent (in terms of latitude and distance) of driving from Rome to Milan and back.

It was a simple drive, I-95 and US-11 (not US-1, as I previously thought, which actually loops around the exterior of the state) most of the way.  It is New England’s largest state, but it is dwarfed by four other states in the mid-Atlantic area (New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and North Carolina).  The difference is, those states are arranged east to west along their longest axis, while Maine’s longest axis is north to south.  That was what we did today when we drove end to end.

After I closed overlooking the river, we drove back towards Ogunquit, and I lit up a Four Kicks, followed by a Jaime Garcia, then a Tattoo.  I was worried we’d be unable to find any place to get lobster upon a 10 PM arrival in Ogunquit, and my friend was unable to confirm any restaurants that would be open at that hour, not to mention I was not sure I even wanted to wait that late to eat.

I suggested instead we stop at the capital for dinner.  He found a restaurant inside the appropriately named Senator Inn and Spa, and it was opened until 9 PM (and right off the highway to boot).  We were fighting both gas and time to get there before they closed and without running out of gas.  We barely succeeded on both accounts, and there was a gas station next to the hotel.

It was to be an epic feast.  All of the seafood we ordered was right here from the state of Maine.  We each got an oyster and a crab cake to start, followed by lobster for our main course.  I got the lobster ravioli, while he got the regular lobster, enjoying struggling with a lobster for the first time, as part of the adventure.  I was quite satisfied with my ravioli.  I also got a Lobster Ale, since he would be driving from Augusta to Ogunquit, which was really, really good.  I might need to pick up a six-pack to take home.

We then got the strawberry-rhubarb cobbler for dessert, along with some coffees.  There was not a single bad part of the meal.  After dinner, I lit up a VSG, and we drove back, listening appropriately to a band called The Maine.  Once we got to the hotel, we settled in, and I went outside to the same spot from last night, where I sat down, lit up a Davidoff Special R, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and maybe upload some photos before I go to sleep.  We don’t have much planned for tomorrow, but it’ll be good to get an early start.

Maine 2016 - Day 0 - From Old England to New England

Maine 2016

6/24/16, “From Old England to New England”

Ogunquit, Maine

Just 11 days ago I was sitting in Nottingham, in England’s oldest pub, discussing Brexit with the locals.  Now, here I am in New England, and Brexit happened.  From Old England to New England, it has dominated the news coverage in every way.  A year ago, I made this trip on the heels of one of the most significant Supreme Court decisions of a generation.  “Love Wins”.  That was the talk and the hashtag all over every form of social media and news outlet 52 Fridays ago.  Today, it’s Brexit.

In spite of a collapse of global economies, it is a decision with which I am very happy.  Britain has declared its independence from a failing institution, and, having just returned from Britain, I am convinced they made the right decision for themselves.  It will likely lead to the reunification of Ireland and the secession of Scotland from the rest of Britain, but those are likely positive things to occur, as well.  Brexit has happened, and it will quite possibly represent the biggest geopolitical event since the fall of the Soviet Union.  Britain and Greece, they represented the two extreme ends of the European Union.  Britain, a donor state, Greece a state on the verge of bankruptcy being the recipient of much of those donations.  Why should Britain continue to support Greece?

That was the sentiment from Wales to Nottingham.  It is the sentiment that I share.  It is borne from nationalistic pride, which is no longer seen as a noble virtue, instead being condemned as a form of selfishness in a modern society.  Is this ideal of Civil Society that Hegel envisioned?  If so, it is something of which I want no part.  Opinions have been mixed, but I fail to see how people can condemn Britain for saying, “Britain First.”  It is this vision of “America First” that Donald Trump has been selling to the American people as his campaign, and it is a vision that I wish to embrace.

There is not much to report about a boring Day 0, and Brexit has been the overarching theme throughout the past slightly over 24 hours.  It was around 11 PM when I got home last night, after seeing a silly comedy Central Intelligence with my friend, and I was pleased to turn on the news to find Brexit was then being predicted with 80% certainty.  Within an hour, British news outlets had called it.  Brexit was happening.  I grabbed my bottle of Beefeater gin, brought back from London and lit up a Partagas, celebrating British independence.

I knew the consequences.  The markets and pound would take a nose dive.  Northern Ireland would rejoin the Republic of Ireland.  Scotland would vote for its independence so that it could rejoin the European Union.  Prime Minister David Cameron would resign.  That all happened or is being talked about happening in the near future.  It will complete redefine the geopolitical structure of the British Isles.  Meanwhile, I was texting back and forth with my friends about it.  One friend was afraid of the consequences I described.  The other friend was excited for the reasons I mentioned.  I was in the latter camp and unafraid of the consequences.

I woke up around 8 AM, quickly got ready and packed before heading to the office.  I spent almost the entire day finalizing a bid package for a new client.  I got a haircut and my traditional pre-departure lunch at Hop Won.  At 5 PM, I left so that I could have a quick Cohiba and pick up some cigars before getting on the train.  I needed to be at Hertz before they closed at 7 PM.  Meanwhile, my friend was working until 7 PM, but he would be able to make the 6:59 PM train, which got in at 7:36 PM.  It was later than if I had left work early, but it would not delay me much off my current schedule.

When I got to Hertz, they were almost out of cars, despite my reservation, and had to put me in a compact, giving me a voucher for the inconvenience.  It was 7 PM by the time I got the car.  I put everything in the car, entered the hotel into the GPS, and drove around the corner to get some bacon and coffee.  I drove back to Hertz to await my friend.  I was standing waiting for him for less than ten minutes when all was said and done.

We got on the road, and I lit up an Davidoff box-pressed Nic Toro, as the shop had been sold out of the Escurio Toros.  I put on Red, and we were on the road.  It was a familiar drive, the same drive I have taken for three years in a row now.  I-287 to I-91 to I-84 to I-90 to I-95.  We stopped at McDonald’s after the first cigar, where I got some protein with no bread.  We got back on the road and switched the music to Fearless.  I lit up a Tatuaje TAA Exclusivo, trading that for a Trump-sized Fuente somewhere in Massachusetts.

We were soon at the all-too-familiar “Welcome to Maine” sign.  We took a ceremonial picture there, and I got caught up on my messages and notifications.  20 minutes later, we were at the hotel, the Seaview Motel, where I believe I stayed with my parents during my first trip to Maine as a teenager.  We went up to the room, and I sat down outside, where I proceeded to light up an Ardor and write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and plan our day tomorrow.  We have a long day ahead of us.

HP: The Experience - Day 5 - "The Parting of the Ways"

6/15/16, “The Parting of the Ways”

Heathrow Airport, England, United Kingdom (LHR)

Last night, I wrote about what made us open the cover or step into the movie theatre, but what about that familiar sinking feeling when we reached the parting of the ways each year (the last chapter in Goblet of Fire was even called that).  Harry and his friends had said goodbye, and it had come time for us to say goodbye to Hogwarts, goodbye to Harry.  We’d reach a blank page in the book, or the familiar end credits music would play, and we’d close the cover or walk out of the theatre, knowing we’d have to wait another two years for the next adventure.  We could read or watch it again (I usually did), but, the story was over, and we’d have to wait for the next one.

Only J.K. Rowling could elicit that reaction from us.  Game of Thrones comes close, but Harry Potter was an event unlike anything else.  In the two years that we would read fanfiction and discuss theories on the message boards and argue about “shipping”, it was the moment we had been waiting for, either eight hours with book or two hours in a theatre, and it was over with the parting of the ways.  Then we’d have to wait another two years before we went back to Hogwarts.

My reader should realize at this point, that that opening was a metaphor for this trip and last night in particular.  Typically, this would be the point in my trip where I write what I call my triumphant airport entry.  Getting ready to fly home, I would write about all successful adventures of my trip and rave about a new country I have discovered.  Today, that will not be the case.  Of the entire trip, five days, there were only three highlights, driving through the Welsh countryside (including visiting King Edward’s castle), my night in Nottingham, and, of course, last night.  This was the biggest trip I have undertaken this year, so there should have been dozens of highlights, not just three.

By and large, the trip was a failure.  I’m not used to saying that.  I will return to England later in this year, and I will visit the sites I missed out on this week.  That is fine.  I will take any excuse to return to England.  London is, without a doubt, other than New York, my favorite city in the world.  I have fallen into a familiar pattern with these trips, now.  Fly into London, spend a night at The Savoy, do something else, and then fly home.  Last time it was Scotland, this time Wales.  Next time Northern England, though, if I can get the extra vacation time approved, I will incorporate it into my Thanksgiving trip and stop here on the way to Doha.

There is so much that I love about Britain, the way they talk, the fast driving, even if the roundabouts annoy the bloody hell out of me, the food, the drinks, the architecture, everything.  Wales is probably going to make all sorts of top five lists when I evaluate it.  I just wish I had better enjoyed my time there, though, if Andorra is any guide, I will remember the highlights and not the lowlights.

From the time I got into the collision Saturday morning, until the time I reunited with my friend Tuesday afternoon, it was quite possibly one of the five worst trips of my life.  Only the beauty of Wales and the history of Nottingham was a saving grace.  Not only did I lose out on the fulfillment value of three World Heritage Sites, I simply wasn’t enjoying myself.  It was a miserable time.  It seemed like everything was going wrong, and I just wanted to get back to London and reunite with my friend.

We hadn’t seen each other in two years, and our reuinion of six hours was far too short, especially given the circumstances.  The play was great, but the play alone would not have been worth flying to London and taking two and a half vacation days.  In a few days, I will have forgotten about the adversity of this trip and remember how much I enjoyed the highlights, such as they were.  Then, I’ll book my next trip to England, and I’ll have figured out how to visit not just the sites I missed this trip, but also all the rest of the WHS in England.

That trip, especially if I do the 9-day Thanksgiving trip, will be one for the record books.  That trip will make up for this one.  Then, next year, I can do London and Northern Ireland (it’s always London and …) or London and Northern Scotland, and I can do Ireland and Northern Ireland as a separate trip.  London is only a short flight away, and a room at The Savoy always calls my name.  As I mentioned previously, I shall return.  On that note, my flight is about to board, so I will close.  As is my tradition, I will treat the return journey in its entirety when I am ready to close out the trip.

En route, NYC Taxi 9G65

And now, the return journey.  I have no more reflections to add, and I will soon be at the office and back to my daily routines.  All that is left is the formality of recounting the return journey.  After I closed last night, I had planned to pull an all-nighter, but driving to the airport on zero sleep seemed a supremely stupid idea.  I wound up getting three hours of sleep, which was plenty to allow me to drive to the airport without incident.  I even had time to stop for gas on the way, which didn’t want to fill up all the way for some reason.

I checked in and found a row that was almost entirely empty, which would be great if it held up.  I made it through security with no hassle, other than a rescreen because I didn’t put my whiskey bottles in a plastic baggie.  I then went to the waiting area, where, just like the last time I was at Heathrow, I wrote a very untriumphant airport entry and then headed to the boarding area.

My row remained almost empty, giving me three seats to myself (well, four seats for two people).  I fell asleep and woke up in time for “breakfast”, which was really more like dinner food.  I went back to sleep and, when I woke up, wrote my personal companion entry, which I neglected last night.

Then they served lunch, which was more like a traditional lunch.  It was a chicken Caesar wrap with chips (or crisps as the Brits call them).  We soon landed, and, when I got off the plane, I was surprised to see three CBP officers in the Jetway.  There were more officers at the checkpoint, too, than usual, maybe twice as many.

I had no issue and was soon outside.  I was waiting for the bus when a taxi driver offered me a discounted ride back to the city.  I gladly accepted, and he even let me smoke in the back with the windows open.  Once I got into the cab, I sat down, where I proceeded to light up a Punch and write this entry, which I now close, along with closing out this trip.  Next stop: Maine for my annual June trip there.

HP: The Experience - Day 4 - Back to Hogwarts

6/14/16, “Back to Hogwarts”

London, England, United Kingdom

Over the course of this trip, I have discussed the beginning and the end of the Harry Potter series, but what about the middle?  What was it that kept making us want to go back to Hogwarts?  What made use crack open the cover six more times, step into the movie theatre eight times, jump at every new supplemental article and interview, and fly to London to see a two-part play?  “The Boy Who Lived” was what piqued our interest, but it was the constant desire of wanting to go back to Hogwarts that continued to hold our interest, made us play along as we "shipped" our favorite characters and couples (HMS Chocolate Orange!!!).

As I drove back to London, this was what I considered.  First, it was the familiarity of it all.  Each of the five books that followed the first one (Books 2-6) pretty much repeated the pattern of the first book.  Harry has a miserable summer with his aunt and uncle, he goes back to Hogwarts, and he fights the forces of evil right around the time of his finals, but he never fully defeats all the forces of evil, which sets up the next book.  That was the familiar pattern.  Then, after Book 6, we knew the pattern was broken, and we knew Harry would not be going back to Hogwarts, and we prepared for the worst.

In the end, he did go back to Hogwarts to fight the final battle against Voldemort, and that was the end of it.  We had our epilogue nineteen years later, and all was well, except for the sinking realization that we would never go back to Hogwarts, except to relive the memories.  Well, tonight, for the second night, we got to go back to Hogwarts.  Without Dan and Emma and Rupert, it wasn’t quite the same, but the magic was still all there, especially sharing it with the one person in the world I more wanted to share it with than anyone else.  Tomorrow, I will be flying home, and I am glad to have one last magical night to end an otherwise disappointing trip.

I woke up, knowing I would want to get the castle when it opened at 10 AM sharp.  I didn’t have much of an appetite all day.  In fact, dinner was the only meal I ate all day, just having a piece or two of cheese in the car otherwise.  I packed and got dressed, arriving at the castle, in the pouring rain, just as it opened.  The only remaining part of the castle was the entrance, so I bought some Robin Hood souvenirs, took my ceremonial pictures outside, and went back to the car.

I had determined that I would need to take a trip to London and Manchester later in this year, the goal of which would be to say “England Complete.”  Then, I could do London and Northern Island next year.  Scotland would have to wait for another time.  That meant, there was only one stop today.  I put Blenheim Palace into my GPS, and I was soon on M1, the big motorway, the British equivalent of I-95 or the Trans-Canada Highway, and I had a Montecristo for the drive.

The driving was fast, and I made it to Blenheim Palace in good time.  It is a famed filming location, and I recognized immediately the courtyard as a scene from Spectre.  I walked around to find the spot of the inscription photo and lit up a Partagas for my ceremonial picture.  I then walked through the gardens to find where they filmed the pivotal Snape/Lily flashbacks in Order of the Phoenix.

I headed back to the car, texted my friend about meeting up later, The Savoy already in my GPS.  After some back and forth, we agreed to meet at my hotel before walking over to the restaurant to meet her parents.  After I finished my Partagas, I lit up an Avo, it being the last drive of the trip, and I got stuck in some brutal traffic, being delayed over half an hour as I made my way to The Savoy.  My friend had already started getting ready while I was stuck in traffic, and I didn’t want to be late for her.

As soon as I got to The Savoy, I raced to my room and got ready.  I was actually ready before she arrived with a little time to spare, which was fine, but it meant we’d have less time together.  In fact, we actually had to head straight out almost immediately.  We greeted each other like the old friends we were, making up for the two years it had been since we last saw each other, even if we had exchanged well over 10,000 text messages in that time frame.

Her friend and I introduced ourselves to each other, though we clearly knew all about each other through her.  I gave her presents, of which she was clearly very appreciative, but she asked me to leave them here so that she wouldn’t have to carry them to the play.  I dropped them off in my room and came back down.  She thought we had some time to kill, but I explained that we were actually late for dinner.  She and her parents shared in the confusion, having thought the reservation was at 6 PM, not 5:15 PM.

We walked to the restaurant and ordered some cocktails as we awaited her parents.  They were going to be late, so we ordered.  I picked the venison, my friend the John Dory, her friend the veal.  She was very upset with both of us, me for eating Bambi, him for eating a baby cow.  We also got an asparagus appetizer to share (split just the way I like it, the tips for her, the spears for me) and mashed potatoes.  My first drink was the house cocktail, gin with sparkling wine.  It was really good.  Really, really good.  She got a glass of wine.

Her parents joined us before the food came.  Another round, Tanquerey Ten for me, the house cocktail for me, which her mother and I wound up drinking after she couldn’t finish it.  Needless to say, I was slightly toasted by the end of the meal.  All the food was delicious, and the ambience was perfect.  Her father graciously picked up the check, and I thanked him for it profusely.

We then walked to the play, and, among the five of us, probably took close to a hundred pictures in front of the theatre.  It was time to go in.  We were stoked.  We went in and figured out the seating arrangements.  I was in the middle seat, between my friend and her parents.  The first act was great, and I enjoyed it much more than the first night, in no small part because, instead of the empty seat next to me, the one person in the world with whom I most wanted to share this experience was sitting next to me.

At intermission, we went to get souvenirs, an overpriced keychain, pin, and t-shirt for me.  I got us a sparkling water for us to share, which was much needed.  The second was even better, and, without giving any spoilers, there were numerous scenes that brought us to tears.  I didn’t want it to end.  I was home (a phrase I usually only reserve for the insides of Olympic Stadiums).  I was back at Hogwarts.  All was well.

After it ended, we waited for autographs, and I got us two programs to get signed.  We only got a few autographs, but it was a fun experience.  I said goodbye to her parents, and we said we’d make a point to see each other the next time they were in New York.  The rest of then walked back to my hotel to retrieve my friend’s presents, and I grabbed my computer bag to have my cigar and write my entry outside.

We headed downstairs, and we agreed we needed to make sure not wait another two years before we saw each other again.  We went outside to the place where I wrote my entry on Saturday and said our goodbyes, and that was that.  I sat down, lit my last Juan Lopez, a cigar I had been saving for such a special occasion, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish, write my companion entry in my personal journal, and get a little bit of sleep before I fly home.  Actually, I’m not sure if I’ll get any sleep tonight.  It’s my last night in London, and I want to make the most of it, but, I shall return.

HP: The Experience - Day 3 - Of Castles and Dragons

6/13/16, “Of Castles and Dragons”

Nottingham, England, United Kingdom

If someone writes a story (or movie or video game) of castles and dragons, and it’s halfway decent, I will probably read it (or watch it or play it).  In fact, all three of my favorite book series are of castles and dragons.  Add in famous swords and villages with stone houses, and I’m hooked.  Those three series are, Lord of the Rings (and the associated works of Middle Earth), A Song of Ice and Fire (the source for the TV Series “A Game of Thones”), and, of course, Harry Potter.  Each series has famous castles (Minas Tirith and Helm’s Deep, Winterfell and the Red Keep, Hogwarts and Durmstrang), dragons (Smaug, Drogon, and too many too count in Harry Potter), swords (Narsil, Longclaw, and the Sword of Gryffindor), and villages with stone houses (the Shire, King’s Landing, and Hogsmeade).

I love the familiarity, and I wish I could have lived in such an age and location.  Today, as I traversed through Wales, I got to experience it all.  I set foot today in a millennium-old castle in the land whose flag is a dragon.  I drove through the villages with stone houses, and I wound up at the home of Robin Hood.  It was as legendary of an experience as imaginable.  It made me long for my favorite fantasy series.  However, all was not well.  I fucked up.  I fucked up big time, and it prevented me from fully enjoying the experience.  Now, however, sitting in front of the statue of Robin Hood, with two pints of English ale in me, I am relaxed.

When I travel, I usually bring my A-Game.  This trip, I have been bringing my C-Game at best.  It has cost me big time.  I had my list of the all the WHS I wanted to see, and I will miss a great deal of them.  I missed out on an important souvenir this afternoon, and I had to cut two WHS from today’s adventures.  I overslept.  I intended to push back my schedule by two hours, but I wound up pushing it back by five hours.  It fucked everything up.  Big time.  I had planned to be able to fix it tomorrow, but that is no longer an option, either.  The net cost of the fuck up was another trip to Britain at a future date, which isn’t a big deal, since I intend to travel here with some frequency over the course of the next decade, but it was still annoying.

I went to sleep soon after I closed last night, and I woke up to watch Game of Thrones with my mother.  My plan was to watch the episode and then discuss the episode with my friend back home, via Facebook Messenger, until it was sunrise in Cardiff, and then I’d drive to Caernarfon castle to get there when they opened.  It would be a rough day of driving, but it was doable, and it would be epic.  Well, he was watching the Tony’s, so he would not be watching Game of Thrones until later.  I smoked a Davidoff during the episode, which was a boring episode, with not much to discuss, so I went to bed after I watched it and told him to message me afterwards.

I then went to sleep.  I woke up to his message and we discussed it a bit until I fell asleep again.  It was now 6:30 AM, and I had only had a few hours of intermittent sleep.  I had originally planned to be on the road at 5:30 AM, now pushing it back to 7:30 AM.  That didn’t happen.  I figured, if I cut out Liverpool, I could push it back until 9 AM.  It was 10 AM by the time I left the hotel.  I fucked up.  Big time.  That was when the souvenir shops opened last night.

It was over a 4-hour drive to the castle, and that meant it would be 2:30 PM by the time I got there, which meant I’d be rushed to get to the rest of my sites, and I’d even have sacrifice an additional WHS in England, perhaps saving it for tomorrow.  I figured I’d wake up at 5 AM tomorrow and make up for what I missed today.  That was a very bad plan.

I lit up an Aroma de Cuba and was on the road.  Around noon, now smoking a Joya de Nicaragua, I stopped at a roadside food truck for a spot of tea.  He asked where I was from.  When I told him that I was from New York, I finally got to have the conversation I had been waiting all trip to have.  “Trump or Clinton?”  “Trump.”  “Alright!”  “Should Brexit happen?”  “I think we should go.”  “I agree.”  That was it.  That was the conversation.  I couldn’t have scripted it together.  I asked him to fry me up some bacon, and we chatted for twenty minutes, about various American and British political issues, as I ate my bacon and drank my tea.  We shared very similar views.

I wanted to move to Wales at this point, and my drive through the countryside only enhanced that desire.  Eventually, after also smoking a Fuente, I came to the castle, and I was very tight on time, now, figuring the souvenir shops in Nottingham would close at 8 PM.  It was also raining a bit, so I didn’t want to walk around the castle, too much, as marvelous as it was.

The castle, King Edward’s Castle at Gwynnedd, also known as Caernarfon Castle, was almost a millennium old.  I lit up an Hoyo de Monterrey and took some ceremonial pictures at the castle before picking up my souvenirs and heading to the next site, the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct.  It wasn’t even in my GPS, so I didn’t expect there to be a souvenir shop.

Turns out, there was, and it closed at 5 PM, just before I arrived.  FUCK!!!  I could have had pins from every WHS in Wales.  Oh well.  I lit up a Cohiba and announced, “Wales Complete.  Northern Island, Scotland, and England, you’re next,” or something to that effect.  I then learned that I was taking a picture at the canal, not the aqueduct, so I kept walking to the aqueduct.  I took my ceremonial pictures there and repeated, “Wales Complete.”  I had done it up right, and now it was time to return to England.

The driving was fast, and I had an Aging Room after I finished my Cohiba.  I managed to get to my hotel with time to spare before 8 PM.  One problem.  It turned out Nottingham didn’t really have traditional souvenir shops.  All they had was the shop in the castle, which had been closed for quite some time and would not open until 10 AM.  I left my car and luggage at the hotel and walked around the city, hoping to find something.

I took a picture of the Robin Hood statue and found the perfect place for dinner, but I couldn’t find any souvenir shops, even ones that were closed.  I will have to figure out if I can rearrange my schedule for tomorrow and see what a future trip to London and Manchester would look like.  I can’t leave Nottingham without a Robin Hood souvenir, now, can I?  After I settled into the hotel, I went back to the pub, for what turned out to be the highlight of the day.

It was called Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn, and it was established in 1189, the oldest pub in England.  When I walked in, I heard a group of locals in the Ward Room talking about Brexit.  I sat down with them and effortlessly joined the conversation.  I got two pints of their house ale, along with pub favorites of a sausage roll and beef and ale pie.  It was delicious, and the conversation lively.  We were discussing British politics in the same place where people had been for almost 900 years, ever since the bloody Crusades (no pun intended).

After my meal, I headed back to the castle and found a spot in front of the Robin Hood statue, protected by a tree from the rain, where I sat down, lit up my Castello, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get back to my hotel room and publish it before I replan my day tomorrow (and any future trips to Britain) and see if I can somehow salvage the last day of this trip.  This was supposed to be one of the best trips of my life.  So far, it has been extremely disappointing.  However, if tomorrow is good, it’ll make up for the rest.