Bradley, an Airport with Heart

In my next installment of blog posts with terrible puns in the title, I’d like to share what a great little airport Hartford’s own Bradley International is. While Bradley has always been a good choice for short flights within the US, the airport has recently begun to add heft to the “international” part of its name, most notably with Aer Lingus’ service to Ireland. I can’t wait for the chance to take advantage of that relatively affordable flight!

For now, Bradley is the best option for me when visiting family in Baltimore. Parking is affordable, starting at $6/day if you can grab a spot in lot 4. Getting through security tends to be pretty painless because there are short lines. Once you’re through, you are in a bright, comfortable space with good eating and drinking options and panoramic exterior views wherever you go.

Now, airports are airports, and it isn’t like I’ve never heard horror stories about trips from Bradley drawn out for many hours after cancelled flights. A particularly absurd tales of airplane travel gone awry took place at Bradley five years ago, when an emotional support pig did its business right after boarding on a US Airways flight, causing the pig and its handler to be kicked off the plane while the passengers tried to recover from the smell.

Maybe it’s just a matter of time, but I’ve never had a bad experience flying out of Bradley. I prefer the airport because it’s such a nice place to wait for my flight. Of course, it has touches of local charm, including a Two Roads taproom and Lego models of some of Connecticut’s landmarks, including the Goodspeed Opera House.

Look at the comfy couches behind the model. No one is even sitting on them! I would have, but I had gotten so absorbed in wandering around the airport looking at stuff that I had to rush to my gate to board.

Poughkeepsie and the Hudson Valley

We recently spent three nights in Poughkeepsie, NY. Why Poughkeepsie? my friends who have lived in New York have been asking me. The city has a gritty reputation of which I wasn’t much aware, and which I would anyway tend to ignore (for more on that, see my post on Waterbury and Bridgeport, CT). At any rate, we didn’t stay downtown, but at a lovely Best Western in the nearby borough of Red Oaks Mill, which we scored for about $90/night (fees included) on Priceline. The hotel’s breakfast area overlooked a bend in Wappinger Creek, allowing for leisurely mornings watching birds while enjoying the continental breakfast. (On the morning of May 22, we saw two sandpipers as well as four Canada geese, an Eastern kingbird and some sparrows.) Although a little out of the way, the hotel was a very comfortable launching point for three days of adventures in the area.

Day 1: Mohonk Mountain House

Aerial view of the resort from mohonk.com

In the 1800s, the Hudson Valley was a glamourous destination for vacationers looking to escape city life. While much of that glamor has faded, it lives on at Mohonk Mountain House, a castle-like resort tucked in the rolling landscape west of the college town of New Paltz. Around since 1869, the resort is stunning inside and out. Its halls are warm Victorian fantasies interspersed with historical curiosities and windows with mountain views, and its flowering gardens slope down to a glacial lake wedged dramatically between cliffs.

The cheapest rooms at Mohonk cost more than a lot of people I know make in a week, but fortunately, you can access the resort as a day guest by making a spa or buffet reservation. Alley and I got a couple’s massage that entitled us to use of the spa’s verandas, eucalyptus steam room, dry sauna, and (best of all) heated outdoor mineral pool, which I never wanted to leave. We also rented a paddleboat on the lake for an hour, walked on the trails and birdwatched (noteworthy sightings: a red-eyed vireo and a great crested flycatcher), and partook liberally of the 4:00 tea and cookies.

Day 2: Kingston

We headed up to Kingston the next day to catch a sightseeing cruise with Hudson River Cruises. My favorite part of the cruise was being out on the water for two hours and admiring views like this:

The guide lectured on the history of the Hudson, and we learned some interesting things about the historic lighthouses and ice industry. In truth, however, I was less interested in learning about wealthy peoples’ mansions along the river — an emphasis — and more in the bald eagle that we saw hunting in the clear sky above us.

Afterward, we absorbed positive vibes at artist hangouts We Got The Juice and Uptown Coffee, wishing we had more time to enjoy downtown Kingston, which was practically wrapped in pride flags and is home to the thriving Hudson Valley LGBTQ Community Center. Ready for another good walk, however, we crossed the river again to indulge our curiosity about Poets’ Walk Park, a winding trail through beautiful meadows overlooking the Hudson.

Day 3: Poughkeepsie

Before saying goodbye to the Hudson Valley, we took it in from arguably the best vantage point of all, Poughkeepsie’s Walkway Over the Hudson. We then descended into the city’s Little Italy to visit Caffe Aurora. According to a local paper we picked up in one of the cafes we visited, Eleanor Roosevelt used to stop here to pick up petit fours on her way back to Hyde Park. Maybe this Italian bakery and coffee bar was the new hot thing back then — it opened in 1941 — but now it’s a pillar that has endured through the city’s hard times. Inside is a timeless atmosphere full of antiques, live plants, and natural light diffused through slightly cloudy windows. As for the pastries, it isn’t hard to see why Eleanor liked them so much.

We also visited Mill House Brewing, a sleek pub with a solid and diverse lineup of beers including an improbably delicious cucumber cream ale. On our way out of Poughkeepsie, we stopped at the Barton Orchards farm market for hot pickled garlic and other specialties.

I’d like to emphasize how nice the people we met in the area were. Poughkeepsie may have seemed like an odd choice for our first vacation in a while, but we really enjoyed it and would be happy for the opportunity to return someday.

Cape May, NJ… In May, of course!

In May, if you love birding, you have to get out of Worcester, no matter how busy you are. No. Matter. How. Busy. Somehow I made it work, sneaking a visit to Cape May, the southern tip of the Jersey shore, into a trip down to Baltimore for my cousin’s baby shower. Cape May is a huge birding destination, hosting the World Series of Birding every May. I don’t know for sure why they named it Cape May, but I imagine it was because May is the time to visit in order to see the migratory shorebirds.

I drove down on Saturday, May 4, and surprisingly, traffic was light. If you are going to Cape May for birding, set your GPS for South Cape May Meadows. This nature preserve has trails leading through a marsh to a beach with protected nesting grounds for piping plovers and least terns.

I arrived at 11:30 am and saw three American oystercatchers, one of which I filmed foraging by the surf:

I also saw one killdeer, three least terns, three willets, several egrets, numerous common terns, laughing gulls, common grackles, and red-winged blackbirds, and an osprey carrying a fish. I also had the pleasure of watching a pod of dolphins not far off the shore, feeding where the least terns were flying. I didn’t see any piping plovers, which are notoriously small and difficult to spot, as well as being endangered.

Cape May is a cute town that I’d love to spend more time in someday; it reminds me of Oak Bluffs on the Vineyard. I made one stop in town to refresh myself before hitting the shore: Exit Zero, a gas station, gift shop, and restaurant. It was honestly the coolest gas station I’ve ever been to, with aesthetically pleasing pumps sporting quirky facts about gas.

Who knew? Traveling — like birding — is all about discovering new surprises.

A Lovingly Cynical Guide to Salem

It’s funny that I’ve ended up in the position of saying every couple of months: “Do we need to go back to Salem again?” Alley, who used to live on the North Shore, always has some excuse for pushing it. It’s the 4th of July; the fireworks are the greatest there. (I preferred the ones in Gloucester, but OK.) It’s our anniversary. (Our first-ish date was at Flying Saucer Pizza.) Flight of Fire is in town. (You got me.)

Fortunately, it isn’t a bad problem to have. Salem always has a few new surprises in store for me: this time, it was Jolie Tea, across the street from the Hawthorne Hotel, our favorite place to stay. This French tea shop in petite but luxe quarters offers a rainbow of flavorful macaroons, high tea if you want to get fancy on a weekend afternoon (reserve ahead), and a friendly chat about tea flavors if you’re feeling overwhelmed by the extensive menu.

My first impression of Salem wasn’t favorable. I was driving into downtown at night and found myself in front of the Salem Witch Museum, which was in an old church with red light shining out of its Gothic windows, as if to invoke the gates of Hell or something. I made up my mind never to go there, a position that Alley has so far unsuccessfully urged me to reconsider. She tells me the museum actually is a monument to tolerance that shows how not only the victims of the Salem witch trials, but also many other vulnerable scapegoated groups throughout history, have been persecuted because of fear and hate. That sounds nice, but how the museum could take seriously a historical atrocity while at the same time treating it like a stop on a Halloween hayride really puzzles me. It’s like staging a haunted house in an actual shuttered asylum.

I consider a lot of what Salem offers to tourists to be in similar poor taste, a mix of phony and sometimes culturally problematic New Age commercialism with sensationalism of the witch trial history. Fortunately, there’s more to Salem than that. Here are a few of my favorite places in the city:

• Gulu-Gulu Cafe, a European-inspired coffeehouse with a bar, yummy crepes, and live music and other events
• The aforementioned Flying Saucer Pizza, an imaginative pizza restaurant with sci-fi decor
• Koto Grill and Sushi, which is not only a great casual Asian fusion bar and restaurant but also a great place to see local bands
• The Ugly Mug Diner, a self-described “twisted American diner” and my favorite place for breakfast on the North Shore (bonus points for the pride flags)
• Far From The Tree Cider — this one is a short drive from downtown, but worth it if you like cider and science experiments. They won me over with their fall seasonal Ectoplasm, which was green, brewed with bell peppers, and inexplicably delicious. Now that’s a Salem Halloween gimmick I can get behind.
• Pamplemousse — This isn’t a restaurant or watering hole like the others, but rather charming kitchen and wine store with regular tastings, located on pedestrian friendly Essex Street
• Modern Millie (also on Essex Street, right next to Pamplemousse) — I’m going to throw in one clothing store recommendation; if you like wearing women’s vintage styles/shopping at Modcloth, go here! It combines vintage pieces with pretty reasonable new ones.

To Salem’s credit, that’s a pretty long list, especially given that all except for Far from the Tree are within a few blocks from each other and the Hawthorne.

There are obviously plenty of historical sites and museums in Salem as well, which are treated with more decency the less they have to do with the witch trials. Salem’s history is quite interesting, given its long past as a commercial and cultural center. (Prior to its settlement by Europeans in 1626, it was a Native American village and trading center.) As a great admirer of Nathaniel Hawthorne, I get chills just walking around and looking at the colonial buildings, including, of course, The House of the Seven Gables.

The Salem Custom House, which Hawthorne profiles at length in The Scarlet Letter, is particularly striking. Many people find this building beautiful. On its website, the National Park Service gushes that “the Custom House symbolized the Federal Government’s presence in Salem, requiring the architects to design and impressive building. High ceilings, a sweeping staircase, and beautifully carved woodwork contribute to a feeling of strength and stability.” (The Custom House is currently maintained by the NPS as part of the Salem Maritime National Historic Site.)

Hawthorne, on the other hand, draws attention to the ominous quality of the Customs House when he describes the eagle on it as an “unhappy fowl”
with a “customary infirmity of temper” who “appears by the fierceness of her beak and eye, and the general truculency of her attitude, to threaten mischief to the inoffensive community.” As I see the truculent eagle mimicked in door knockers and other decorative features of Salem houses, I think of how easily we gloss over the intimate relationship of New England’s maritime history to colonialism, imperialism, and slavery. Salem, as it turns out, is not just a historic city. It’s a place where we continue to struggle to come to terms with the ghosts of our past.

A Commuter Rail Christmas

This month, the Boston Globe reported that a conductor on the MBTA’s Lowell Line got up very early on December 19 to decorate his train for passengers on his own time. The staff on the train dressed up, played music, and handed out treats. One passenger called it “a nice change from the… sourness of commuting,” according to the article. But a certain spirit of benevolence and camaraderie is actually normal on the commuter rail.

The decorated Lowell Line train, courtesy of the Boston Globe.

Sure, there are negative aspects to the commuter rail experience — namely, delays. Based on my experience taking the Worcester line to work every day, delays of 20-60 minutes happen once every two weeks. Running late to work about 10 percent of the time adds up. In November, all hell seemed to break loose when a fire and a derailment occurred in the same week. I haven’t been privy to a total catastrophe yet, but it’s probably just a matter of time.

Such issues are to be expected in a system that scrambles to get sufficient funding. In discussing the funding of MBTA updates, Governor Charlie Baker’s priority is the T (hey Beacon Hill, there’s a Massachusetts outside of Boston!). The commuter rail, its riders and staff get shortchanged.

In spite of this, we the people of the commuter rail are patient and civil. Ours is a special mode of transportation different from shuffling on and off the T or grousing at other cars in traffic. We commit ourselves to the familiarity of the same train, the same group of passengers, and the same conductor every day, and with that familiarity comes a sense of our collective humanity. Nobody gets in arguments. Nobody cuts another passenger off or elbows anyone else around. Nobody leaves their trash on the train, unless they’re not from around here and are taking a one-off ride.

The conductor is responsible for the passengers’ safety and comfort on the train. Unlike T riders, commuter rail riders have a personal relationship with their conductor, who takes their tickets and thanks them every ride. If you’re chatty, many conductors will reciprocate and learn your name. If you’re an introvert like me, they’ll let you be. In the event of any problems on the trip, the conductor will come on the intercom to address them, often apologetically. No one complains to the conductor because it’s clear that the conductor is already doing everything possible to ensure a comfortable, punctual ride.

I take the same trains most days, and am always comforted to see the same conductor. On the occasions that I take an earlier or later train, the conductor may be a new face but is equally courteous and professional. I always get the sense that seeing the faces of the thousands of people who depend on them every day reminds commuter rail staff that their job isn’t just a job, but a mission.

So if I had walked into that decked-out Lowell line train on December 19, I would have been charmed, but not surprised. The commuter rail staff is awesome like that.

Mechanics Hall: Above and Beyond

Anybody in Worcester’s music scene will boast that Mechanics Hall has accoustics that rival what you’ll find in Boston. Created in 1857 by the Worcester County Mechanics Association, it was engineered for greatness, even though it wasn’t just slated for use as a concert hall. According to the Mechanics Hall website, the hall also hosted everything from roller skating to 4-H club meetings back in the day. However, as Worcester’s fortunes dwindled in the 20th century, the Hall became neglected and decrepit. The city had to consider demolishing it, like many of the other grand buildings that could no longer be maintained. In the case of Mechanics Hall, the people of Worcester decided its cultural value was worth a $5 million restoration. The Hall has now largely become a classical music and formal event venue, preserved with help from a local nonprofit, the Friends of Mechanics Hall.

Interior of Mechanics Hall, from https://www.mechanicshall.org.

Only the wraparound balcony has permanent seating. The orchestra seating consists of rows of comfortable seats that can be removed in the case of, say, a wedding. Elaborate mouldings on the walls and ceiling reflect nineteenth-centry tastes. Behind the stage are large portraits of Lincoln and Washington, and portraits of a bunch of other dead white guys hang behind the balcony seats. Unfortunately, it’s not a very good representation of the community.

However, the concerts I have heard in the hall have been thoroughly enjoyable. I’m an official Worcester Chorus groupie, because my very own Alley is a member. Last Saturday, the Chorus performed an all-Bach program and earned a standing ovation from an appreciative crowd of local music lovers. In my mind, the Hall’s accoustics really delivered when it came to the harpsichord, every pluck of which I could hear with distinct clarity.

Despite what some proud Worcesterians might claim, Mechanics Hall isn’t Symphony Hall. It’s a multipurpose space built for civic purposes that happened to work as a great concert venue. And therein, in my view, lies the charm. A Worcester Chorus concert at Mechanics Hall reflects layer after layer of going above and beyond what you need to do in order to produce something your community loves. Bach himself was a guy who made his living grinding out music every Sunday. He could’ve just mailed it in. He didn’t have to spend every week laboring over counterpoint to produce something that would enrapture a hundred generations, but he did. Likewise, the Worcester County Mechanics Association didn’t have to build a first-rate venue that could be cherished for centuries, but they did. The volunteer Worcester Chorus singers don’t have to give up hours each week to enrich the city’s cultural life, but they do.

All of which is awesome. Now, can we please get a picture of Frederick Douglass up there?

A “Donuts Are Love” Story

I grew up very proud that my hometown, Woodbury, CT, had the best donuts in the world. Not that I had tried every other donut in the world — just Dunkin’s and Krispy Kreme’s. But who could imagine better donuts than the ones from Phillips Diner (now Dottie’s Diner; the ownership has changed, but the donuts fortunately haven’t)? Crusty on the outside, the epitome of soft, doughy freshness on the inside, with velvety chocolate glaze or fine cinnamon sugar on top. They were rings of perfection.

Just as my mom’s family made my dad eat Old Bay-slathered crabs when he first visited Baltimore, I made everyone I dated have a Phillips/Dottie’s donut on their first visit to Woodbury, then carefully awaited their reaction. “Are they the best donuts you’ve ever had?” I, and anyone else with me, would ask. A “no” was a grave insult. After all, what other source of civic pride did we have? Our other claim to fame, the antiques business, was all but stripped away by the recession.

Fortunately, the donuts were so good that a no was never forthcoming — until I met Alley. She agreed that the donuts were exceptional, but refused to admit that they were the best. I helplessly referred her to the framed magazine pages on the diner wall, touting Phillips/Dottie’s donuts as the best of this or that. She didn’t budge. She had her own donut shop to which she was similarly committed: Kane’s Donuts of Saugus, MA.

Like Phillips, established in the 30s, Kane’s is a family business that has been around for a long time — since 1955 to be exact. Run by the Delios family since the 1980s, it catered to the blue-collar fishing community of Saugus with big, satisfying donuts. At some point, the word got out and Kane’s has become widely known in greater Boston, recently opening a store in Downtown Crossing. The Saugus location attracts people from all walks of life while still opening at 3:30 to feed the fishermen.

When Chronicle recently spotlighted Kane’s, the episode, by focusing largely on the making of the donuts, failed to fully capture the spirit of the place. Kane’s motto is “Donuts are Love,” and they actually live up to that. Just as my memories of being a Phillips “regular” and knowing the owner and staff, Alley’s attachment to Kane’s goes way beyond the donuts themselves. While frequenting Kane’s when living on the North Shore, Alley became friends with Peter Delios, who always comes out to give her a hug and see how we’re doing.

I find the dough of Kane’s donuts satisfyingly hearty, and the flavors really “pop” thanks to the high-quality, local ingredients. Thanks to Alley, I’ve now tried many of the varieties, including honey dip, pumpkin, apricot, and chocolate coconut. My favorite, blueberry, is made with real wild Maine blueberries. Kane’s donuts are very different from Phillips/Dottie’s, but no doubt, they are exceptional, too.

A donut with chocolate frosting made with Somerville-based Taza Chocolate

Given a choice between two donuts, would I pick Dottie’s over Kane’s? Without a doubt. I might cite a preference for the pillowy softness of the Phillips/Dottie’s dough, but really, it’s that I’m powerfully motivated by nostalgia. But that situation is completely hypothetical. The two restaurants are three hours apart. The beauty of your favorite donut shop is that it’s part of your neighborhood and is always there for you whenever you want a fresh donut that someone like Peter Delios got up at 2 AM or earlier to make for you. Seriously, why the obsession with declaring one thing better than everything else? The more I see of the world, the more I realize what a fool’s errand this is.

So here’s to Kane’s, Dottie’s, and all the local donut shops that feed our souls. They all get a trophy in my book.

Finding the Holy Grail at the Boston Public Library

I feel almost guilty writing a second post about the Boston Public Library, because I wonder if I am slowly spilling its secrets and depriving others of its surprises. Oh well — I am inspired. Night two of my adventures in the Boston Public Library led me to the Abbey Room. Entering this room, I wondered what its purpose was, because it was empty except for some benches around the dark wooden walls and an information post in the middle of the checkered stone floor. Then I looked up and saw John Abbey’s murals of Sir Galahad’s quest for the Holy Grail wrapped around the upper half of the walls. I realized that the room doesn’t need a purpose.

Abbey, an American illustrator, painted the murals around the turn of the 20th century at the behest of the library’s architect, Charles Follen McKim. Abbey picked the subject matter, which fits in with the library’s old-world palatial style. Twenty-first century audiences may be most familiar with the story of Sir Galahad through its parody by Monty Python. However, Abbey’s realization of Galahad’s quest, based on medieval and Victorian sources, is moving and timeless.

Galahad’s story begins when he is an infant. An angel appears to his mother, prophesying that he is the pure knight that will recover Holy Grail, which has been lost due to society’s insufficient virtue. This is confirmed in Galahad’s young adulthood when he sits down and rises unharmed from the Siege Perilous, the chair that is fatal to any person who is not pure enough to find the Grail. After this, Galahad, accompanied by an an entourage of other Arthurian nights, embarks on his quest for the Grail.

Galahad approaches the Siege Perilous

He encounters many stumbling blocks along the way. First, he meets Amfortas, the corrupted king of the land where the Grail is held. Then, he must battle seven knights representing the Seven Deadly Sins. He rescues a castle of maidens, then marries one — isn’t that what a knight is supposed to do? But on their wedding night, instead of consummating their marriage, he departs to continue on his quest, because he is, in the lexicon of his fellow knights, too pure.

Galahad leaves his wife on their wedding night

Galahad may be hailed as a hero from the time of his birth, but that doesn’t mean his life is easy. In almost every panel, Abbey isolates Galahad from other people. He is alone as he confronts Amfortas, alone as he battles the seven knights, alone as he removes himself from his wife after their wedding. One panel puts the plot on hold to show Galahad kneeling in shadow, contemplating his journey. In a society fixated on procreation, marriage, and heterosexuality, Galahad is an outsider.

Galahad approaches Amfortas

But this “outsider” status gives him an alternative destiny: to pursue something more permanent than that, something that even those around him recognize as holier. Ultimately, Galahad perseveres in his quest and finds the Grail. He then travels to the mystical land of Sarras, where he is crowned king and his soul is lifted up to heaven. What Galahad has sought, and found, is not just the Grail, but a higher reality — one in which he is not an outsider, but rather one in which the social constructs that create outsiders don’t exist.

The final panel of Abbey’s murals shows the humbly kneeling Galahad enveloped by the residents of Sarras, who lovingly crown him as one of their own.

Galahad is crowned in Sarras

Obviously, these pictures only convey a poor impression of what it feels like to look up at these murals. Go to the BPL and see for yourself!

Waterbury and Bridgeport: Beautiful Cities

If you’re not from rural/suburban Connecticut, the title of this post won’t seem at all oxymoronic to you. If you are, then unfortunately, it might.

Growing up, I was told to avoid Waterbury, Bridgeport, New Haven, and Hartford at all costs, as if the bogeyman lived there, waiting to devour me. This bogeyman was represented as crime and drugs, but at some point, I realized it had more to do with race and class. When that “some point” occurred is difficult to pinpoint. Maybe it was when I made friends with people from these places and realized that life there was just as dignified, and in some ways more appealing, than it was in my small hometown. Maybe it was after I spent another night carousing rather recklessly through the clubs and came out totally unscathed. Maybe it was on December 14, 2012, that date that suburban Connecticut buried its innocence at Sandy Hook, that I knew that wanton violence happens anywhere and we need to live our lives without fear.

Have I entered territory too murky for a travel blog? Then let me bring it back to brighter ground. All of Connecticut’s cities are beautiful, and if you don’t visit, you’re missing out. This weekend, I visited friends and family and enjoyed old and new spots in Waterbury and Bridgeport. Let me share.

Waterbury

Our day in Waterbury began when I dropped Alley off at Mass at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, right on the town green.

Merely an occasional churchgoer myself, I opted to run errands at the nearby Brass Mill Center, the mall which is all we suburban kids typically experienced of Waterbury growing up. Sadly, I knew people who would drive 10 minutes farther to the Danbury Fair Mall, because they thought that if they set foot in Waterbury, they would get mugged. Despite the ominous-looking sign outside the parking lot warning visitors to lock their cars and hide their valuables, I have never heard of such an incident happening to anyone I know, nor have I ever felt unsafe at the mall. In fact, it is a mall I particularly enjoy visiting, because I love to look up at the fanciful murals above its second-story halls. These murals honor Waterbury’s history as a brass production center, hence its nickname, the “Brass City.” In one mural, a band of little musicians marches along the slide of a trombone. In another, purple flowers wind and blossom through brass gears.

I picked up Alley and drove her behind the mall in search of lunch. Along this street, you can find Mexican food trucks. Restaurants struggle in downtown Waterbury (though the timeless La Tavola, located outside downtown, is one of the state’s best Italian restaurants), but casual places do better and are a great way to experience Waterbury’s cultural diversity. Once, we got to listen to a Mariachi band playing in front of a food truck to entice customers to stop (as if the street corn didn’t speak for itself). There was no band this time — it was a dark, damp autumn day — but the lime green picnic tables brightened the atmosphere as we ate delicious quesadillas and tostadas.

After that, we headed to Shebeen Brewing to meet my friend a Shelby. This brewery had some seemingly off-the-wall flavors like a Chocolate Cherry Cannoli spiced ale. I thought I wouldn’t like it, but it was actually really good! My favorite beer I tried was the Scotch ale with a subtle pumpkin flavor. What I liked just as much as the beer was that Shebeen is a queer-welcoming space, with special “Queers & Beers” nights on the last Friday of each month. To my knowledge, it’s the first regular event for LGBTQ people in northwestern Connecticut. I wish it had been around when I was younger.

Bridgeport

The next day, we met my other friends for brunch at Bloodroot in Bridgeport. Established 40 years ago by a lesbian couple, this counter-serve vegetarian restaurant with its chalkboard menu and walls covered with old photographs seems to take you back to another era. Unfortunately, its bookstore section, which stocks titles on animal rights, feminism, and racial justice, purveys ideas that seem just as radical today as they probably did in the 70’s. As a vegetarian, I love walking into Bloodroot and being able to pick out anything on the menu. It’s all delicious, top-quality, and priced pretty low. I got a flavorful tofu scramble with slices of their homemade bread on the side. The ladies who run the place often come out to check on their guests. Seeing that we were a crowd of friends having a happy reunion, they offered to take a picture of us posing on their bookstore stairs.

We walked off our lunch at the expansive Seaside Park, a Long Beach along the Sound, where outdoor concerts sometimes take place. Then we visited my friends’ charming house on a lake. They got it at an unbelievable price simply because it was in Bridgeport — still more evidence that it pays to keep an open mind.

A treasure trove of maps at the BPL

So with Fitchburg behind me, I’ve begun taking the commuter rail from Worcester to Boston every day, and I love it! One day this week, I stayed in the city to do some exploring after work. I’ve visited Boston many times, but there’s still so much I haven’t seen — like the Boston Public Library. I needed to print something and used that as a pretext for going. It was like walking up to a public mansion. I barely made it to the tech center because I wanted to hang out in the courtyard all evening.

After receiving assistance from the friendliest librarian I’ve ever met (who was trotting nobly around the tech stations helping a bunch of people at once) and printing my document, I backtracked to the Crossing Boundaries: Art // Maps, an exhibition in the library’s Norman B. Leventhal Map & Education Center. Not only did this exhibition display antique maps next to contemporary art — two things I find very interesting — but it also helped viewers think more deeply about how maps are created and reflect the mapmakers’ attitudes. Here are some profound insights offered by the exhibition:

1. Mapmakers make choices that reflect their biases. Obviously, you can’t fit everything on a map. What you decide to include is determined by your values, that is, what you think is important. So, for instance, this medieval map of the world (below) puts the Holy Land at the center, and is illustrated with kings, reflecting the value the mapmaker placed on religion and royal power. Cartographers in more recent times draw lines of latitude and longitude, reflecting their values of science and precision.

2. Because maps reflect mapmakers’ values, they demonstrate power and can reinforce oppression. Western imperialism generated maps that divided the world according to colonial boundaries. These boundaries did violence to indigenous peoples. A 19th-century map of the world surrounds it with portraits of Western leaders, with the US and UK on top, triumphantly proclaiming white mens’ dominance of the world.

3. But maps can also be used to challenge the way we think of borders, and therefore, push back against colonialism.

One map that attempts this is Native-Land.ca, an interactive, user-informed map of North American Indigenous lands. The map is online, and the exhibition has a large computer screen set up for visitors to interact with it. The “borders” of this map overlap, raising questions about the validity of the concept of borders themselves, as you can see from this part of the map, which shows southern New England:

Victor, the map’s founder, warns on the site’s About page that “this map must be used critically. Maps potentially function as colonial artifacts and represent a very particular way of seeing the world – a way primarily concerned with ownership, exclusivity, and power relations.” Discover the map for yourself here.

4. Maps can be works of art, and vice versa. Some artists render visual objects in particularly elegant ways. Others push the boundaries of what we consider a “map” through imaginitive representations of space. Paired with the medieval map that inspired it, contemporary artist mappa mundi maps the existential space of the mind.

One thing that’s certain is that maps, like people, have much more interesting things to say when you bring many different ones into one room.