Providence Art Festival

A few weeks ago, I attended the Providence festival for the arts. They closed down Kennedy Plaza, replacing all the bus stops on nearby streets, to the chagrin of many travelers. There were several parts to this festival: a street chalk art competition, a street of unique food trucks, stages set up for many different cultural art performances, and more. I was amazed at the scale of this festival, the city's dedication to it (changing the bus routes!), and the huge turnout.

The crowds grew larger as the night progressed. We started at the chalk art festival, where different city high schools or teams competed and passersby bought a coin for whatever piece they wanted to win. Whoever got the most pieces was the winner - my friend's sister was representing her high school with a fantastically vibrant drawing of a pigeon, which we were happy to vote for. As an artist, I had fun wandering around this area and marveling at the various levels of skill and creativity involved in each drawing.

At the beginning of the evening, the food truck area was not too crowded, but within a couple hours the place was packed. And not only for the food, which was all unique and varied, but the nearby music shows. There was an interesting-looking performance truck set up for something called "Squonk opera," what looked like a grunge construction-themed musical act. It was as loud and obnoxious as it sounds, so we only hung around there for a few minutes. More pleasing to the ears were the cultural music performances going on atop a stage set up in Kennedy Plaza, right where the bus to URI usually stops. We saw a band called Zili Misik, an all-female African/Caribbean/Soul fusion band. This we stayed for - the music and the performers had tons of personality! By now the crowds were getting larger, and we were lucky to be short enough to stand in front of them. They weren't bothersome, though - instead they inspired a sense of communal appreciation for everything going on around us. As we marveled at the music, we saw other people around us doing the same.

After this we wandered pretty aimlessly, and the crowds became a problem. There was a break dancing show going on and a solid ring of onlookers surrounding it. We even tried standing on a bench in the background to see, but that too was futile. The food truck area, which was between two major areas of the festival, was now so congested with people that it was quite an ordeal to try to cross. We ended up eating at the nearby Providence Place Mall, because there was no way we were going to wait in a huge line for one of the food trucks, delicious though they may be, and then have to find a not-packed place to enjoy our food. 

Finally, the journey home. Droves of confused URI students slowly filed to the alternate bus stop, and to top it off, the bus was over twenty minutes late, so a collective sense of unease was steadily infecting us all. Cruelly, another bus pulled up and decided to park just shy of our bus stop, and we all knew the URI bus would have to stop either behind or in front of that one. All wanted a chance to get a seat, but none knew which would be the best place to stand. The URI bus ended up stopping many feet down the street, and so an entire crowd of students sprinted down the road and sidewalk to get there. A line never really formed, but instead a mass of people tried stuffing themselves into the bus doors. I'm lucky my roommate lives in Providence and uses the buses often - she pushed her way to the front and got us a row of seats, so that when I finally boarded, 10 minutes later, I had a place to sit. The day was fun, but I was relieved to get off that bus and into my not-crowded room.

Wasted Day in New York City

What a week - and it's not even done. This morning, my brother got married in Central Park. The day went beautifully; it was more perfect than any of us could have thought possible. Therefore, October 11 is a story for another day, and I'd instead like to write about the day before that, Wednesday. After about five hours of sleep, my parents and I boarded a train into Grand Central Station. I have seen it many times before, so we rushed through and got to check into our hotel at 1PM, even though we left at 9 that morning.

My dad had a hopeful enthusiasm for his own plans that slowly deteriorated as it got later. He wanted to walk around the streets and go into whatever place interested him instead of hitting the tourist sites, but it was the day before my brother's wedding and his fiance's parents were driving into the city from Wisconsin. We meant to only stop in to say hi before breaking off to indulge in our own plans, but were roped into having lunch with everyone. My brother was intent on taking us to P.J. Clarke's, citing little facts like how Nat King Cole proposed there and it serves Buddy Holly's favorite cheeseburger (if I'm remembering these correctly). Of course he only had a general idea of where it was, so it took us over a half hour of wandering the streets after a taxi ride, with his fiance's mother having a bad knee, to find it. Though the food was good, it was late in the afternoon by then, and it seemed like everyone's own plans had gone a bit awry.

The mood was rather low after that, and not helped by the fact that we wasted a bit more time sorting out hotel issues. It was past 5 by the time we finally split off and worked out the subway to get to Chinatown. My dad had earlier regaled me with tales of Chinatown in the 70's, where he happened inside a door which led to a hidden bazaar, which sounded too cool to be true to me.

Turns out, it was. Perhaps we were looking in the wrong place, but as the sun began to set we entered into Chinatown and were met with a lot of jewelry shops, tourist stores, and restaurants (which at the time was unhelpful, since we were still full from the late lunch). Every place seemed the same. There were kitschy, tacky tourist shops; restaurants (some of which were famous, making us more regretful of lunch); tea rooms (which seemed cool, but I'm not a fan of tea); foot massage parlors (a surprising amount); and half-outdoor shops selling natural herbs and a variety of dried things, which all had the same distinctive, strange smell I could not place.

While it was interesting and certainly seemed like a foreign pocket in the middle of NYC, I could only feel exhausted and vaguely disappointed by its lack of variety and authenticity. I might be singing a different tune if we went in with an empty stomach. We soon gave up and, after becoming a bit lost, made our way back to the hotel. At that point, which was pathetically only 7pm, I had to dedicate myself to homework.

So in summation, I spent a day in New York wasting time getting lost and dealing with hotel crap, wandering disappointed around Chinatown, and doing homework. The punchline is that exhausted as I was by then (I guess I have no stamina), I think I only got one or two hours of sleep when I resigned myself to bed. The next morning I had to be up by 6AM to prepare for the wedding, and that day I knew real exhaustion. Since that day is still today, I am currently writing this in a very sleep-deprived state. However, I'm pretty proud of myself for surviving, and considering how disappointing yesterday was, today was a blast. More on that is SURE to come!

Ode to Lemon Custard

Last Sunday, my parents visited and took me to dinner in the Italian section of Federal Hill in Providence, as a belated birthday present. Instead of writing about dinner (at Zooma Trattoria, which was pretty fantastic), I want to focus on dessert instead.

We wandered into a square lined with little restaurants and shops, decorated with beautiful European architecture, with a fountain in the middle and an abundance of cafe chairs. It seems like the perfect place for a warm summer evening, or really any warm time, even though that day happened to be chilly. Still, I admired the scenery. We stopped in one place at random: Palmieri's Bakery Cafe. 

Inside it was quite cozy and colorful. The display was filled with professional and delicious looking cupcakes, pastries, and cakes. I picked a lemon square and a lemon coconut cupcake; not usual choices for chocolate-loving me. For a couple days these sat in a box in my room, until I got a craving for lemon, and remembered again why I picked them out. The lemon square, though sizable and filled with delicious lemon custard, was quite typical of lemon squares (read: really good). But I had never encountered a coconut lemon anything, and while my mother scoffed at this combination of flavors, I was intrigued. They seemed, theoretically, to go hand in hand - both were refreshing and cool flavors, to me, and both brought back memories of hot days in Belize. This cupcake, by the way, was one of the best I've ever had. It was extremely light in flavor, weight, and texture, topped with a fluffy cream frosting and sprinkled liberally with coconut shavings - though it seems like it would have been, it was not at all too sugary. In the center of the cake was a lighter and whippier (is that a word?) lemon custard than was in the lemon square, but mixed with the cream and the coconut, formed what I would call a perfect cupcake. I wish I'd taken a picture, but I ate it too fast.

This put me back on track for my lemon love affair. I'd never cared much for it before I went to Belize last January. Perhaps it was being in a different place, a different culture, that let me adapt to the taste. I first tried lemon meringue pie in a small shop in San Ignacio, the first city we stayed in Belize. I didn't know what to expect, because when it comes to cake, I typically default to chocolate. The fluff was piled high here, topping a relatively small square of crust and lemon custard, but the flavor was fantastic. It was very light, tart, flavorful, and all-around perfect. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

I suppose it's a popular dessert in Belize, because we ended up eating lemon meringue for dessert two or three more times at our various hotels within two weeks. Though none have topped the first slice I ever had in that shop, I wonder if it was the novelty of the experience or perhaps those photos that make it look as exquisite as I remember. I'm not one to branch out in terms of what I eat (surprise), but this instance gives me a bit more hope for myself and many beloved flavors to come.

Captain John's

This past Saturday I took the opportunity to go on a Ram Tour, a sort of day trip my university organizes. The destination: Captain John's whale watching tours in Plymouth, MA.

The weather was appropriately gray and overcast, characteristic of a historic New England town. We arrived early and had some time to explore the harbor area, which had not only several different fishing and sighting tours but ice cream shops, seafood restaurants, and a few novelty stores. From there, we were anxious to get on the boat. It was a two-level vessel with an open viewing area on top, and an inside area with a snack shop below. This proved to be our sanctuary.

It took about two hours to reach a whale sighting area, and it was a rough two hours. After we got out of the break water and into the ocean, the waves became choppier and our speed picked up, resulting in a harsh rocking motion. Sometimes it was impossible to stand without holding onto something. Fortunately, myself and my friends had taken anti-motion sickness pills, but the boat ride still made us unnaturally drowsy and unsettled our center of balance, so we practically napped with our heads on a table the entire way. It was a pretty lousy time.

We slowed to a stop once we found a group of whales, thankfully. The following hour consisted of running around the boat trying to find the best view when whales on either side started to surface. The most we saw were their backs and tails, but it was still fascinating to see them in the wild and to learn about their behavior from the guide. Each whale can be identified by the markings and scars it has accumulated on the underside of its tail; naturally, these may change over time, but the guide introduced us to what she thought was a whale named Manhattan. Whether or not this truly was a whale they recognized, I love the concept that each one is an individual - more like a person than an animal. We mainly stuck by a group of three whales, and I learned that whales typically form and break apart as groups at random and for a random amount of times; so these three whales had probably just crossed each others' paths and decided to spend some time together. For animal behavior, I found that rather beautiful.

The boat ride back seemed less rough, and by then the sun had come out. We also met with a small group of foreign exchange students from England, and it was interesting to hear their view of things. It made me feel much less well-traveled, that's for sure.

In the end, I'm not sure the experience was worth that boat ride, but by now I am glad I went and glad I caught some of these photos. It brings up the question of whether the journey or the destination is more important; in this case, it sure wasn't the journey.

Twenty Minutes

Does it matter how you get to work every day? Most people choose the most efficient route (if they absolutely must walk): whatever is fastest and easiest. For my first three years at this university, I walked up campus almost the same way every day, concerned only with getting to class on time - not with aesthetics or the experience of walking. But this year I've changed my route, and it became apparent to me how significant a beautiful walk can be. That is why my first travel log is about something as simple as my 20 minute journey to work.

I live in Garrahy Hall, which is at the bottom corner of campus. Before, I would cut diagonally across the middle of campus, rushing by the main buildings and across the Quad. However, over the summer URI completed construction of the new pharmacy building, which doesn't affect me at all aside from the fact that it's located near my dorm and opened up a new path to my destination. Now, when I walk outside, I turn left instead of right, and the first place I encounter is a tree-lined road on the edge of campus, with woods bordering the opposite side. On sunny days, the light streams through the trees and dapples on the ground, offering a lovely, serene view and a good balance of shade and sunlight.

After walking up this gentle slope for five minutes, I come to an opening on my left, a bright walkway beside a pristine, impeccably mowed, rolling field across from the aforementioned pharmacy building. This area is picture-perfect, very spacious and bright in the right weather. The new building is not bad to look at, too - the side facing the path has several glass walls, so it's easy to see into offices and classrooms, which are newly built, still clean, and state-of-the-art. It makes me a bit envious that I don't have a class there, but all this scenery can do wonders for my mood.

The rest of the way is more familiar, yet still different from my previous route. I now walk up the path beside Chaffee and past the bus stop in front of it, which still has an abundance of trees and, in the middle of the day, is pleasantly crowded. This might not be for everyone, but I find it interesting to be part of a crowd of other students bustling to class; it's a great time to people-watch on the go. I reach the Quad from here, passing between the beautiful library and Davis Hall - it seems that I hit all the most aesthetically pleasing buildings on my way! And everyone knows the Quad - oftentimes busy or otherwise scattered with a few sunbathers, it's a nice place to be at any time.

So what difference does this make? If I look back on it, I spend about four hours a week walking this route back and forth, to and from class and work. At the very least, it's better to spend these hours surrounded by nice scenery and open spaces. But it has more of an effect than that - it makes the day seem brighter. If the walk is pleasant, you arrive at your destination in a more pleasant mood. This means better days and better weeks and a better semester overall. Therefore, you need to pay attention even to the most basic of your travels, down to the mundane trips you make every day.

Home

I've moved around quite a bit in my lifetime. Before the age of 10 I'd lived in five different houses and three different states before my family finally settled down. I was never very torn up about moving when I was younger, and I always saw it as a fun road trip and a new place to make my own. Though all these places have their memories, the one that felt most like home was not even my home; it was my grandparents' farmhouse in Kentucky.

It's a large, rustic looking house (on the outside), accessed via a long wooded gravel road. In the center of their circular driveway is a massive evergreen almost as tall as the house itself; my mother told me it was an old Christmas tree they planted when she was younger. A field stretches between my grandparents' house and the neighbors', and coming back here is what always feels most like a homecoming. In the evenings it used to fill with lightning bugs (fireflies to some of you) and you could catch them almost effortlessly; these days, for some reason, you'll be lucky if you spot more than one glow. Farther back on the property, past a wooded path and a peach tree, my grandpa has a chicken coop, and even further still a garden with everything from blueberries to pumpkins. I remember everything as bright and sunny and green, all the time. To a five year old, this place was paradise.

I'm not very close to my extended family up here in Connecticut, so it's a shame I live so far from my mother's side in Kentucky. But every once in a while we'll have the money to drive down and visit, and my grandparents' house remains about the same, even if the people in it change. My aunt and her two kids now occupy it as well, and because my mother had seven other siblings, aunts and uncles and cousins are constantly coming and going. I can only imagine what it feels like for my relatives who grew up in this house or at least close enough to visit often, when even I still associate it with home.

My mother in her wedding dress in front of the tree, much smaller then; A family reunion in front of the house in the 80's.