![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ventaThe trouble with going on holiday is that there's a gap in your LJing for around a fortnight or so, and then when you return you're faced with the choice of presenting a neat, sanitised precis of the trip, boring everyone senseless with a blow-by-blow account, or ignoring it completely.
I considered a poll for this, but instead I think I'm going to settle for a series of disrupted, disjointed rambling anecdotes. Anyone who would have voted for option 3 is welcome to ignore them. Here is #1 in the series.
The first part of my trip, and the main reason it was happening where and when it was, was an invite to my rapper team, Boojum, from Orion in Boston, MA.
Orion are lovely people, and they have the unusual knack of making longsword dancing interesting. They also have the habit of pinging themselves halfway round the world for the weekend, and thus understand Boojum's strange impulse to do just that, so asked us over there for a few days.
So, I had nearly a week's utterly untypical holiday. Firstly, there was the dancing bit. You know about that. Although, it turns out, the Americans have weird ideas.
A UK dance team on tour:
Goto Pub
Dance
Have pint.
Repeat as necessary.
A US dance team on tour:
Goto Theatre.
Perform 90 minute show.
Goto interesting farmers' market-style place.
Perform 60 minute show outside.
Go inside for hot cider.
(The last part sounds ok, until you realise that the phrase that the whole of the US is looking for is "apple juice".)
Which was all a bit of a culture shock.
However, on our lightning tour of Massachusetts we were put up by a succession of incredibly kind and generous people. While based round Boston, I stopped with Judy and Jim in a small town called Shirley (yes, really - and no, I didn't hear the joke once). Judy described herself and Jim as "unreconstructed crunchy granola 60s throwback types", which would be a fair cop if they didn't both have such a sense of humour. Judy cheerfully makes up words on the spot ("this round was recently deroundaboutatitised") and Jim remains wonderfully unperturned in the face of outbreaks from their 16 year old twin sons.
They've been gradually building their house for seventeen years. It's large, it's lovely, it's not quite finished - it doesn't quite have internal doors (bathrooms included) yet. It has curtains one of the twins described as hysterical, and it has a large kitchen where Jim dishes out his native Italian food with gusto. Many of the other houses I stopped in or passed through in New England (I don't want to change the world) were large (by UK standards), set in big plots of land. Most had a full complement of doors, if they weren't being snazzily open plan. I don't think any struck me as being so friendly and welcoming as Judy and Jim's.
We travelled up through Cape Cod, and over to Martha's Vineyard (not, as I kept accidentally calling it, Martha's Harbour). Sadly, since it was off season, my main memories of the island are "cold" and "shut". I suspect it'd be lovely in summer, but in Autumn it looked like what it was: a seaside town waiting for sunshine again. And it had a very unfriendly pub. Though it also has some lovely open spaces and a couple of resilient kite boarders doing stunts in the waves.
When I had to cry off early and go home to my host's house the evening we were on Martha's Vineyard (I'd picked up a monumental cold on the flight out), I hitched a lift back with her daughter, and let myself into the house. No need for keys, it wasn't locked. I expressed surprised to the daughter, who lived next door. No, she said, no one really bothered with locking up. She herself didn't even lock up when she went away on holiday - in fact, she didn't actually own a key for her own house. Even on a small island, I find that surprising.
I was really pleased with the idea of visiting New England (I don't want to change the world) in the Autumn, because I'd heard so much about the colours of the foliage. Except we were going to be a little late for the best colours. Oh, except fall (which is foriegn for Autumn) was late too. Sadly, it still hadn't happened when we landed. Trees were almost universally still green, with only a very occasional sugar maple having got itself in gear and turned the startling scarlet for which it's famous. Judy said the trees had been confused by the recent bout of bad weather, and weren't sure what the season was - she worried that the leaves wouldn't fall off at all (as sometimes happens) and that snow later in the year would bring the branches down.
An interesting fact: pretty much every car I got in while in New England (I don't want to change the world) was a hybrid car - ie a petrol/electric engine. Now, this may be a side effect of folkdancing types being more likely to be the abovementioned cruncy granola throwbacks. And while I was in NY I saw a full-page ad in a paper claiming that Toyota's new hybrid was actually less environmentally friendly than a traditional engine. But even so, it seemed a far cry from the gas-guzzling mentality that we're encouraged to think every American revels in.
The trains round Boston also impressed me - and not just because they were enormously tall and snorty compared to UK trains (though admittedly this illusion is heightened because there is no platform, so you're looking at them from ground level). They were large, well used but not crowded, inexpensive, timely, clean, and purple. They also had friendly staff - a ncie change from the grumpy people Thames Trains usually supplies. The conductor on our first journey from Boston pointed out that we were in the wrong carriage. Shirley (our station) has a short platform, and you have to be in a particular carriage to get off. She eyed our multiple suitcases and tired little faces, and promptly got the driver to stop the train in the wrong place so we could scoot out.
While we'd waited for a connection earlier that evening, I'd been amazed to see people wandering backwards and forwards across the tracks - no bridge or tunnel. Some cubscouts were selling popcorn, and one guy jumped from a slowing train, ran across the tracks, bought his popcorn, and leaped aboard as it pulled away again - something I hadn't expected the guard to watch smilingly. Somehow, the tales of America's "litigation culture" had lead me to expect these things to be even more tightly fenced in than here, not to rely on people using their common sense.
The one thing that struck me more than anything walking around small towns, and driving through rural areas of Massachusetts, was how different everything looked. You'd never have mistaken the towns for English towns, the architecture was wrong, the layout was wrong, the vehicles were wrong and nothing seemed the same. This isn't a complaint - I'm all for variety - I just hadn't expected everything to look so... American. Houses. Lorries. Fire hydrants. Verandahs. Shop windows. Road signs. They're so familiar from films, toys and pictures that they look almost fake in the real.
Given how unrealistic a picture is painted of London by films like, say, Notting Hill I'd always assumed that films which showed huge wooden houses with wraparound verandahs were equally wishful. But no, actually quite ordinary people do live in houses that look quite like that.
It's an interesting fact that, even when roadsigns are written in English, their curtailed and choppy manner makes them hard to understand if they're in another country. What does "lane shift left" mean ? They were happening all over the place as we drove up to Cape Cod. I mentioned this lack of comprehension and Judy agreed she'd had similar problems over here, citing the weirdest UK road sign she'd ever seen as quot;Dual Pelican, No Bleeper" somewhere in Yorkshire. (I had to agree, that one was just weird.)
Similarly, the Americans put signs up for odd things.I don't know how much these things vary from state to state, but dotted all over New England (I don't want to change the world) there are signs which say "Deaf Person", warning you that the resident of the house with the sign may not hear oncoming traffic. Then again, I suppose English road signs which indicate that ducks or frogs might be crossing seem equally odd.
I feel lucky, really, because I spent a week shuffling around in family homes, with families, eating "pot-luck" meals and lounging about chatting. It's not a side of a foreign country that it's easy to see. It also lulls you into a sense of familiarity, you're just trundling round in a car, just like normal life... then suddenly everything leaps out at you and is Very American all over again. Why is that field flooded, and full of dead trees ? Oh, it's the beavers, they're a real problem round here.
One completely irrelevant thing I noticed: in a week or meeting new people, and making conversation with folks I barely knew, exactly one person asked me what I did for a living. I approve of that not being a default early question to ask someone.
Incidentally, if you're sick of the Billy Bragg lyric already, just imagine how sick I was of singing it over and over in my head by the end of a week.
Incidentally, I'm pleased to note that by referring to Boston and Massachusetts as New England, I can keep up my 100% record of visiting non-European places only if they have "New" in the name.
I considered a poll for this, but instead I think I'm going to settle for a series of disrupted, disjointed rambling anecdotes. Anyone who would have voted for option 3 is welcome to ignore them. Here is #1 in the series.
The first part of my trip, and the main reason it was happening where and when it was, was an invite to my rapper team, Boojum, from Orion in Boston, MA.
Orion are lovely people, and they have the unusual knack of making longsword dancing interesting. They also have the habit of pinging themselves halfway round the world for the weekend, and thus understand Boojum's strange impulse to do just that, so asked us over there for a few days.
So, I had nearly a week's utterly untypical holiday. Firstly, there was the dancing bit. You know about that. Although, it turns out, the Americans have weird ideas.
A UK dance team on tour:
Goto Pub
Dance
Have pint.
Repeat as necessary.
A US dance team on tour:
Goto Theatre.
Perform 90 minute show.
Goto interesting farmers' market-style place.
Perform 60 minute show outside.
Go inside for hot cider.
(The last part sounds ok, until you realise that the phrase that the whole of the US is looking for is "apple juice".)
Which was all a bit of a culture shock.
However, on our lightning tour of Massachusetts we were put up by a succession of incredibly kind and generous people. While based round Boston, I stopped with Judy and Jim in a small town called Shirley (yes, really - and no, I didn't hear the joke once). Judy described herself and Jim as "unreconstructed crunchy granola 60s throwback types", which would be a fair cop if they didn't both have such a sense of humour. Judy cheerfully makes up words on the spot ("this round was recently deroundaboutatitised") and Jim remains wonderfully unperturned in the face of outbreaks from their 16 year old twin sons.
They've been gradually building their house for seventeen years. It's large, it's lovely, it's not quite finished - it doesn't quite have internal doors (bathrooms included) yet. It has curtains one of the twins described as hysterical, and it has a large kitchen where Jim dishes out his native Italian food with gusto. Many of the other houses I stopped in or passed through in New England (I don't want to change the world) were large (by UK standards), set in big plots of land. Most had a full complement of doors, if they weren't being snazzily open plan. I don't think any struck me as being so friendly and welcoming as Judy and Jim's.
We travelled up through Cape Cod, and over to Martha's Vineyard (not, as I kept accidentally calling it, Martha's Harbour). Sadly, since it was off season, my main memories of the island are "cold" and "shut". I suspect it'd be lovely in summer, but in Autumn it looked like what it was: a seaside town waiting for sunshine again. And it had a very unfriendly pub. Though it also has some lovely open spaces and a couple of resilient kite boarders doing stunts in the waves.
When I had to cry off early and go home to my host's house the evening we were on Martha's Vineyard (I'd picked up a monumental cold on the flight out), I hitched a lift back with her daughter, and let myself into the house. No need for keys, it wasn't locked. I expressed surprised to the daughter, who lived next door. No, she said, no one really bothered with locking up. She herself didn't even lock up when she went away on holiday - in fact, she didn't actually own a key for her own house. Even on a small island, I find that surprising.
I was really pleased with the idea of visiting New England (I don't want to change the world) in the Autumn, because I'd heard so much about the colours of the foliage. Except we were going to be a little late for the best colours. Oh, except fall (which is foriegn for Autumn) was late too. Sadly, it still hadn't happened when we landed. Trees were almost universally still green, with only a very occasional sugar maple having got itself in gear and turned the startling scarlet for which it's famous. Judy said the trees had been confused by the recent bout of bad weather, and weren't sure what the season was - she worried that the leaves wouldn't fall off at all (as sometimes happens) and that snow later in the year would bring the branches down.
An interesting fact: pretty much every car I got in while in New England (I don't want to change the world) was a hybrid car - ie a petrol/electric engine. Now, this may be a side effect of folkdancing types being more likely to be the abovementioned cruncy granola throwbacks. And while I was in NY I saw a full-page ad in a paper claiming that Toyota's new hybrid was actually less environmentally friendly than a traditional engine. But even so, it seemed a far cry from the gas-guzzling mentality that we're encouraged to think every American revels in.
The trains round Boston also impressed me - and not just because they were enormously tall and snorty compared to UK trains (though admittedly this illusion is heightened because there is no platform, so you're looking at them from ground level). They were large, well used but not crowded, inexpensive, timely, clean, and purple. They also had friendly staff - a ncie change from the grumpy people Thames Trains usually supplies. The conductor on our first journey from Boston pointed out that we were in the wrong carriage. Shirley (our station) has a short platform, and you have to be in a particular carriage to get off. She eyed our multiple suitcases and tired little faces, and promptly got the driver to stop the train in the wrong place so we could scoot out.
While we'd waited for a connection earlier that evening, I'd been amazed to see people wandering backwards and forwards across the tracks - no bridge or tunnel. Some cubscouts were selling popcorn, and one guy jumped from a slowing train, ran across the tracks, bought his popcorn, and leaped aboard as it pulled away again - something I hadn't expected the guard to watch smilingly. Somehow, the tales of America's "litigation culture" had lead me to expect these things to be even more tightly fenced in than here, not to rely on people using their common sense.
The one thing that struck me more than anything walking around small towns, and driving through rural areas of Massachusetts, was how different everything looked. You'd never have mistaken the towns for English towns, the architecture was wrong, the layout was wrong, the vehicles were wrong and nothing seemed the same. This isn't a complaint - I'm all for variety - I just hadn't expected everything to look so... American. Houses. Lorries. Fire hydrants. Verandahs. Shop windows. Road signs. They're so familiar from films, toys and pictures that they look almost fake in the real.
Given how unrealistic a picture is painted of London by films like, say, Notting Hill I'd always assumed that films which showed huge wooden houses with wraparound verandahs were equally wishful. But no, actually quite ordinary people do live in houses that look quite like that.
It's an interesting fact that, even when roadsigns are written in English, their curtailed and choppy manner makes them hard to understand if they're in another country. What does "lane shift left" mean ? They were happening all over the place as we drove up to Cape Cod. I mentioned this lack of comprehension and Judy agreed she'd had similar problems over here, citing the weirdest UK road sign she'd ever seen as quot;Dual Pelican, No Bleeper" somewhere in Yorkshire. (I had to agree, that one was just weird.)
Similarly, the Americans put signs up for odd things.I don't know how much these things vary from state to state, but dotted all over New England (I don't want to change the world) there are signs which say "Deaf Person", warning you that the resident of the house with the sign may not hear oncoming traffic. Then again, I suppose English road signs which indicate that ducks or frogs might be crossing seem equally odd.
I feel lucky, really, because I spent a week shuffling around in family homes, with families, eating "pot-luck" meals and lounging about chatting. It's not a side of a foreign country that it's easy to see. It also lulls you into a sense of familiarity, you're just trundling round in a car, just like normal life... then suddenly everything leaps out at you and is Very American all over again. Why is that field flooded, and full of dead trees ? Oh, it's the beavers, they're a real problem round here.
One completely irrelevant thing I noticed: in a week or meeting new people, and making conversation with folks I barely knew, exactly one person asked me what I did for a living. I approve of that not being a default early question to ask someone.
Incidentally, if you're sick of the Billy Bragg lyric already, just imagine how sick I was of singing it over and over in my head by the end of a week.
Incidentally, I'm pleased to note that by referring to Boston and Massachusetts as New England, I can keep up my 100% record of visiting non-European places only if they have "New" in the name.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-11-11 11:15 pm (UTC)Sounds like you had a fabulous time! I love New England. And Martha's Vineyard is great in the summer.
no subject
Date: 2005-11-11 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-11 11:20 pm (UTC)Nor, apparently, am I a very good typist.
no subject
Date: 2005-11-11 11:31 pm (UTC)