We have found that the importance of hotel location varies from city to city.  In Washington, D.C., for instance, you want to be in the heart of the city, or close to the Metro.  In Richmond, on the other hand, we chose a hotel on the outskirts of town, since we could drive easily in the city, and saved money over hotels downtown.  In Charlottesville we did the same thing and it worked out just fine.

We checked in to the DoubleTree at dusk.  If it wasn’t as opulent as the Willard, it was at least clean.  It had the usual frills, like flowers in the lobby, but it also had an indoor pool right in the middle of the building.  That was neat.  Our room had two beds and a tidy bathroom.  As was the case everywhere we went this trip, we barely stayed in our room five minutes–long enough to put our bags down and wash up–before heading back out to have fun.

Charlottesville is a university town, and it shares many of the traits common to university towns: a young population; a large, centrally-located campus; a small, charming downtown; abundant pizza restaurants; etc.  We drove around just looking at stuff before parking the car and walking to the pedestrian-only Main Street.  It was obviously once open to traffic, but now is an enchanting brick mall dotted with tables, benches, and planters, with shops and restaurants lining either side.  We spotted two movie theaters, two ice cream shops, numerous bookstores and clothing shops.  There was even a stationary store and a store for crazy cat ladies.

We ate dinner at Christian’s Pizza.  The first bite tricked me, and I thought we’d made a bad choice.  But my tastebuds had fooled me, and instead I found the pizza delicious, with surprisingly crispy crust.  I drank Dr. Pepper for some reason.

We walked up and down the promenade, looked in an antique shop, stopped for ice cream, and in general had a fine time before setting off again to explore more of the town.  We drove up and down random streets not looking for anything in particular.  Away from Main Street the city was quiet.

The campus of the University of Virginia is handsome, complete with the requisite number of statues, athletic facilities, and brick buildings to make it identifiably collegiate.  But unlike any other campus in America, the University of Virginia is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  It was designed by Thomas Jefferson himself, and the older buildings and grounds are charming as can be.  It was late in the evening, but we walked all around in spite of Miriam’s “tourist torture”-related foot injury.  We came upon two lovers on the steps of the great rotunda.  They dispersed when they perceived that I wanted to climb the stairs to see what was up there, and I thought they had run off to a dorm somewhere.  But when we were walking back from the other side of the building–the side that faces the great lawn–we perceived that the lovers were, in fact, hiding down in a courtyard.  We left them alone.

Day Five

Our main interest in Charlottesville was, naturally, Monticello.  The home of Thomas Jefferson, of course, is a popular tourist attraction that becomes very crowded in the summertime, and only a limited quantity of tickets are dispersed each day.  Our initial hope was to see Monticello in the morning, and be on our way back home by the mid-afternoon, which would have us pulling into our driveway between one- and two o’clock in the morning.  But we found that the earliest we could get tickets to see Monticello that day was after noon, so we had some time to kill.

We went first to breakfast at Cavalier Diner, which was a total mom and pop sort of place.  I ate many biscuits.  Then Miriam explored a stand-alone Anthropolgie store she had spied the night before.  It was huge.  We had checked out of our hotel already, so all that was left to do was drive up to Monticello.

Sunday was the day before Memorial Day, and I really felt I would like to go to Arlington National Cemetery on our way out of Washington.  Unfortunately for us, thousands of bikers had the same idea, and all the streets heading that direction were closed.  Traffic was extremely congested, but the weather was nice.

We had checked out of the hotel and paid our parking bill earlier.  I had made a quick trip through the White House Visitor’s Center, in a wonderful old building just across Pershing Park from our hotel, and purchased and mailed some postcards.  We were both hungry.

Miriam is especially fond of a D.C. restaurant called Open City which we frequented while on our last trip.  We were staying at the Omni Shoreham then, so Open City was the closest possible restaurant to us.  From the Willard, however, we had to drive.  I was looking for Connecticut Avenue, but missed it somehow, and we soon found ourselves in the residential neighborhoods north of downtown.  It was interesting to see how busy the shops and restaurants were: the sidewalks were packed with people going this way and that.  We got back on track, found our way to Open City, where I let Miriam out to reserve a table while I found a place to park.  The latter was no easy task, since the National Zoo is in that neighborhood, and the holiday and nice weather had everyone out and about.  I ultimately found street parking on the most pleasant lane I’d ever seen.  A mother and daughter were gardening in front of their house, and I asked the lady to summarize the parking rules for me.  Parking on one side of the street was reserved for a church four four hours on Sunday, but I’d be fine on the other side.  So I moved the car–right next to an awesome Corvair–and made my way to the restaurant.  Miriam was still waiting outside when I arrived, and we had to wait many minutes more.  But it was worth it.  Open City is charming and bright.  Indeed, the long wall of windows can be totally opened on nice days.  The food was as good as we expected.  We walked together back to the car, remembering our earlier holiday when the area around the Woodley Park-Zoo/Adams Morgan Metro stop was our turf.  If we ever move to Washington, we tell ourselves, that is where we’d like to live.

Driving out of the city was bittersweet: we were sad to leave with so much still left to do, but we had so much left to do elsewhere.  (Actually, it was bitterangrysweet, since the traffic was a nightmare and the bikers were outrageously loud.)  But we soon crossed the Potomac and were back in Virginia heading west on Interstate 66, passing Arlington, Falls Church, Tysons Corner, Merrifield, and Centreville.  I had a strong urge to exit in Manassas to visit the national battlefield, but resisted, mostly because I knew it would consume the remainder of our day, and we were determined to reach Charlottesville.

Somewhere near Gainesville, Virginia, I got it in my head that I would like to see Shenandhoah National Park.  I have always wanted to see it, actually, but couldn’t imagine a circumstance in which I would, since I knew it was unlikely to ever be a destination in and of itself.  But since we were so close, and since my free traveler’s map of Virginia (which I got at the visitor’s center) showed me it was a very minor detour en route to Charlottesville, I changed course slightly, and we headed south into the rural heart of western Virginia.  It was beautiful, actually.  Farms and fields stretched out in all directions around us, and the road passed over rolling hills for miles and miles.  The road itself–Highway 211, or Lee Highway–was in excellent condition, and traffic was very light.  We stopped for drinks and fuel somewhere near the ominously-named Amissville, but even that was nice.  We reached the western edge of the national park with plenty of time to meander down the Skyline Drive and still make Charlottesville before dark.

Shenandoah National Park charges admission, but I had no objections whatever, since I’m sure the National Park Service isn’t as well funded as it ought to be, and, in any case, I’ve wasted fifteen dollars on worse things countless times.  Anyone who has traveled along the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina will understand what driving through Shenandoah is like.  The only difference is that at the overlooks on the west side of the Drive, you look out over the Shenandoah Valley, and see the fabled river meandering along.  I kept thinking of the old, sad song:

It was a gorgeous day, and though the park was not crowded per se, there were plenty of cars enjoying the same drive.  We stopped repeatedly to explore the various overlooks, both facing east and facing west.  It was late in the day, and the lower angle of the sun combined with haze down in the valleys made the mountains look blue.  As the day wore on we determined that further stopping would be inadvisable, so we continued south down Skyline Drive, through mountains, through meadows, past animals, and so on, until we reached Highway 33, where I thought it wise to leave the park and head back southeast to Charlottesville.  There is a more southerly exit to Shenandoah National Park that would have spit us out near Interstate 64, but the extra miles along Skyline Drive would have easily taken an additional two hours.  I was satisfied with what I had seen.

As we drove back east toward Charlottesville, the high mountains began to gradually disappear behind us, until we were once again in the midst of rolling fields and farmland.  We made good time on the open roads and soon enough were at the northern edge of Charlottesville.

On Friday, 15 May, our friends Matt and Kerri, who had been legally married for several months, finally hosted a reception at the Thomas Center gardens in northeast Gainesville.  Miriam and I dressed pretty and arrived somewhat early, so that we observed the caterers setting up tables and the band plugging in instruments.  Soon enough, all our other friends arrived, food was served, and Matt and Kerri wandered around greeting everyone.  There was an open bar, so I took advantage and drank many an IBC Root Beer.  The gardens looked beautiful after dark, since the newlyweds had carefully strung lights and hung decorations.  They gave out as favors some fake mustaches, and many guests were wearing them.  The band was talented, and though people didn’t dance so much, everyone appeared to be having a good time.  Such a good time, in fact, that some time after nine o’clock the police arrived.  Kerri greeted the officer wearing a fake mustache and explained that she and Matt had obtained a noise permit in advance.  The party continued.  In fact, it would have kept going had the Thomas Center staff not begun removing the tables and chairs.  It was well after ten o’clock when we all disbanded, but only to be parted for a few hours.

Many of the party guests were roller derby girls, and the team was holding a car wash the following morning at Coffee Culture on 13th Street.  That place seems to like the Gainesville Roller Rebels: they even have a drink called a “Ruby Typhoon”.  The team had held successful car washes there before, and this was a good opportunity to raise money for charity.  Miriam and others arrived quite early, but I stopped by later on my way to work.  I was glad that Harris was there.  He’s fun to talk to.   Sara brought Coleslaw, which amused everyone.  Tradition has it that everyone will meet at Big Lou’s following a GRR carwash, and when I got out of work I rode my bike over there.  Alas, we sat outside in the sweltering heat.

While I went Swimming at Kat and Harris’ apartment, Miriam spent the afternoon preparing food to take to a surprise birthday party for our friend Kyle that his girlfriend Adrienne was holding at her apartment.  Guests were advised to dress like Kyle, which for some meant wearing glasses.  Many of Kyle’s friends were there, and we all socialized until he was brought home unaware, we hoped, of the party that was waiting for him.  Kyle thought he was just coming over to Adrienne’s for a quiet dinner after having some drinks with friends at the Top.  You know how you become suspicious when your birthday is coming up, and people begin acting strange?   As the party went on, and reports came in describing Kyle’s whereabouts, we began to worry that the secret would get out.  At one point, Matt, who was with Kyle, informed Adrienne that Kyle had wanted to go to his own apartment.  This was bad, because all the party guests had parked in front of Kyle’s apartment.  When he observed the vehicles of all his friends he would be sure something was up.  But we hid anyway.  Some of us hid, that is.  A few friends stayed in the dining room, figuring that we could still get him even if he was suspicious by making him think that he was having a small party, then, Surprise!, we all jump out of Adrienne’s bedroom and it’s a big party.  So Adrienne tells us it’s time to hide, and we go in her room and turn off the lights and wait.  Kerri and I kept watch out the window, waiting for the boys to come up the steps.  After what seemed like forever, they finally arrived.  When he entered the house Adrienne was going to ask him to fetch something for her from her bathroom.  Sure enough, he opened the door, and I think we almost gave him a heart attack, if not from the surprise itself, then from the sheer amplitude of our shouting.  Everyone ate because there was seriously a lot of food, and Adrienne presented Kyle with a cake.  We partied until the early morning hours.

The next day (Sunday), Miriam and I awoke and readied ourselves for a little day trip to St. Augustine and the beach.  The weather was nice, and after a long search we found good parking in the old historic district of the city.  Everywhere you looked couples were walking hand-in-hand.  Unfortunately, the service was terrible at the restaurant where we ate lunch.  But after that unpleasant experience we took A1A south to Marineland and found a nearly deserted stretch of beach.  By the time we left we were the only ones there.  Alas, I forgot my camera, so all I got were cellphone pictures.  But it was a lovely Sunday, and the perfect end to an epic weekend.

May first was also my graduation day.  My mother, my father, and all my living grandparents came to Gainesville and stood outside the O’Connell Center in the blazing sun for what seemed like an eternity waiting for the previous commencement ceremony to conclude.  When I was at last allowed to enter the building, sweaty and thirsty, I located my fellow English majors, and stood silently in line waiting to be ushered into the arena.  I didn’t know or even recognize anyone until the ceremony was under way, and even then, of the hundreds of names called that afternoon I recognized only two besides my own.  I had pleasant conversation with the girl sitting next to me.  She, too, was an English major, but her focus was literary theory, and mine was eighteenth- and nineteenth century British literature: our paths never crossed.  I was genuinely proud and happy to be there, and I thought the ceremony itself was dignified. Miriam captured a funny picture of me looking like Sasquatch as I crossed the stage.

After it concluded I gathered my people, and we made our way in several cars to Satchel’s.  I was frustrated by the experience, not because the restaurant was so crowded and the wait was so long; I expected that.  Rather, I was disappointed that Satchel’s made no attempt to reduce the suffering of their waiting patrons.  I knew I wanted one of the rare and desirable deep-dish pizzas–I had even reserved one ahead of time–but they wouldn’t start preparing it until we were seated, even though doing so would have freed a table forty minutes earlier for other patrons.  The lack of any real climate controlled waiting area was hard on my older relatives.  But the food was delicious, and everyone loved it.  Plus, Miriam brought a cake.

That day also marked the first time my mother and grandmother ever saw where I live.  I am sure they loved our home.  Miriam and I set our air conditioning down to seventy-six degrees to make sure everyone was comfortable, and it felt so comfortable that we decided then and there that we’d keep it that way all summer long.  I dubbed this “Summer of Seventy-Six”.

I received some nice graduation gifts: Miriam bought me new sneakers, my Grandma gave me a picture of her with my grandfather taken in the 1940s, and my Grandmom gave me a classy engraved pen.

That’s how summer began.  Just last week I received my diploma in the mail, so it’s official.  And now summer is ending.

My first indication that the tide was turning came when Satchel’s switched from Coke to Pepsi.  Old Man Satchel put a notice on the back of the menu saying that he didn’t have a preference one way or the other, but that the Pepsi people made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.  A short time later, the University of Florida announced that it had signed a new exclusive contract with Pepsi, and before long all the Coke machines on campus disappeared.  Last year, I walked into Big Lou’s to find them serving drinks in all new glasses printed with the Pepsi logo.  They, too, had switched.

Meanwhile, Pepsi is substantially underselling Coke.  I have noticed that both Wal-Mart and Publix have priced two-liter bottles of Pepsi at just a dollar, while Coke, when not on sale, is $1.79.  (The exception is at Major League Baseball parks, where I paid $8 for a Pepsi a week ago.)

Finally, Pepsi has introduced some new, old products that have soda fans excited.  Pepsi Throwback, which I first had last summer, is made with real sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup.  It tastes noticeably better.  I had assumed it was a limited-time-only sort of thing, but around the New Year, my friend Harris, a soda fan, told me it was back, along with Mountain Dew Throwback.  Both are still available, and both have wonderful retro packaging, with the Pepsi cans, in particular, especially evocative.  And though it isn’t a Pepsi product, per se, I recently discovered Dr. Pepper Heritage, also made with real sugar.  Dr. Pepper is an odd drink, but I enjoyed this reissue.

Now, it may be that sugar is once again less expensive than corn, and Pepsi is simply taking advantage of that.  Or Pepsi might have taken the pulse of the soda buying public, and realized that fans have a taste for real sugar.  Coke needs to do the same.

And, unless Coke is really doing as well as they’d like, they need to look out: Pepsi appears to be taking over.  Coke still has McDonald’s and Walt Disney World, but for how long?

We arrived in San Juan in the early afternoon, and took the short taxi ride to our hotel, the Intercontinental San Juan Resort and Casino.  We were shocked when the front desk clerk told us we must pay a $500 deposit “for incidentals”.  We had purchased a vacation package months ago, which included our airfare and hotel.  We knew we’d have to pay for parking and taxes, but didn’t expect to pay such a large sum up front.  It cut into our walkin’ around money quite a bit.  To make matters worse, to pick up the rental car we’d reserved we had to pay a $400 deposit.  At the end of the week, Avis would refund the deposit less the rental fee.  Thankfully, that was the end of our troubles for the entire vacation (save one rainy morning).  The desk clerk gave us a sweet room upgrade on the eleventh floor with a beach view.  Plus, the girl at the Avis desk–conveniently located in the hotel lobby–upgraded us to a Nissan Rogue.  It was quite nice, and made us feel better.

We spent that afternoon hanging out near the hotel, deciding to take it easy.  There were several restaurants across the street, so we ate, and got directions to the nearest supermarket from two police officers.  Pueblo is quite similar to Albertson’s.  I was fascinated by all the exotic products.  Brands we know well in the USA make items for the Latin American market that we never see here.  And items that we do have look different.  Two-liter Pepsi bottles were tall and slender, and Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes are called something else entirely.  Soda was less expensive than in the USA ($1.07 for two liters), but dairy products were much more: milk cost $5.99 per gallon.  The Puerto Rico equivalent of Merita or Hostess is called Holsum, and I bought a package of their little donuts with powdered sugar called “Donitas”.  They were delightful, and over the course of our vacation I must have eaten eighty little donuts.  I even wrote a song about them:

Donitas, me gusta comer Donitas.
Te quiero, mi amor, Donitas.
La comida de Dios, Donitas!

I would like to make a music video for my song in a very Univision style, with lots of blown-back hair, camera zooming, and a scene where I pick my face up out of a pile of powdered sugar, like the scene from Scarface where Al Pacino lays face down in a  mountain of cocaine.  I can’t say enough good things about Donitas.

But, even better than Donitas was a treat I had for the first time ever the day we spent in Old San Juan.  The historic eatery called La Bombonera sells something called Mallorcas, and they are a gift from heaven.  They look like small spirals of dough sprinkled with powdered sugar.  You can get them in this soft form, but I had mine grilled, without the cheese or meat that others prefer.  They were indescribably good, and I wished I had a larger stomach so that I could have eaten more of them.  More about La Bombonera later.

After dinner our first night, we went down to the beach, then swam in the pool after dark.  The constant breeze and cool water was completely refreshing.  The pool, which was huge and had a waterfall and a bridge over it, was open all day and night, but we sometimes went down too late to get towels from the gazebo, and had to feel very cold coming up in the air-conditioned elevator.  Then, back in the room, we opened the sliding glass door to the small balcony, and delighted in the breeze that blew back the curtains.  Most of the time that we spent in our room was with the door open.  Some nights we could see the cruise ships leaving San Juan and heading east, and the sight of their bright lights sailing toward the horizon was enchanting.  So ended our first day in Puerto Rico.

More to come.

The number of people selling food in Puerto Rico is impossible to exaggerate.  Where ever one stands here, several dining opportunities are within view.  At street corners, men and women sell fruit.  At roadside kiosks, vendors sell all manner of fried and roasted meat.  Restaurants fill every building.  I know that seems like hyperbole, but when I say that you can’t turn your head without finding a place to eat, I mean it.  In people’s homes, from people’s cars, from stand-alone structures and on foot, food is for sale.

Perhaps the most unexpected thing I have found amidst the huddled masses, baking in the heat here is a kind and jovial politeness.  Almost without exception, everyone with whom I have come into contact in Puerto Rico has been very nice.  Even in situations in which one might expect a degree of curtness or even aggression, there is none.  For example, Miriam and I attempted to access the former United States Navy base called Roesevelt Roads on the east side of the island.  At three different checkpoints we were turned away.  But, each guard with whom we spoke was friendly and polite.  In America, security guards are so often complete jerks, that I was taken aback.  And, even when it sounds like Puerto Ricans are angry and shouting at one another–and people here are loud, to be sure–it isn’t what it seems.  On a sidewalk beside a vast expanse of lawn that sits before San Felipe del Morro, as we enjoyed delicious piraguas, we saw a family pass.  The children were shouting as children always do, and the mother seemed to be speaking sternly to them.  But, what they were really saying, in Spanish, of course, was how beautiful the kites were, and how nice the weather was.

Puerto Rico is crowded, dirty, and poor as can be.  But the people here are warm and friendly.  I will miss this.

Coors Light is giving adult consumers a way of knowing when their beer is at the ultimate drinking temperature with the debut of the brand’s Cold Activated Can in a 24 fluid-ounce container. Thermochromatic ink turns the mountains blue when the beer is cold enough to drink. The company was the first U.S. beer brand to offer this type of product with the debut of Coors Light and Coors Cold Activated Bottles….

I have an equally effective technique for determining when my beverage is at the “ultimate drinking temperature”:  I touch it with my hand.

Today I had to go to school to drop off a paper, and on the way back I called to place my order.  When I told the guy my name he said, “Pepperoni/Butter-cheese?”  Like I said, I go there a lot.

Until this afternoon, Gainesville had a wonderful old soda fountain at Wise’s Drug Store on University Avenue, downtown.  It had been open for over seventy years, and was the kind of place where sassy ladies with names like Gladys would give you a hard time if you asked for a “hamburger with cheese” or didn’t know the difference between an ice cream float and a vanilla soda.  I had been going to Wise’s for as long as I’ve lived in Gainesville.  They made the best vanilla milkshakes anywhere, and served them with a spoon, and always gave you the excess in the stainless steel cup they mixed it in.  You could get malt added if you wanted, but I like things for their thingness, so I kept it simple.

Earlier this month it was announced that Wise’s would be closing.  They’ll still keep a drive-through pharmacy on SW 4th Avenue, but the soda fountain is no more.

As a dyed in the wool nostalgist, this is a sad occasion for me.  Clearly, soda fountains aren’t as common as they once were, especially ones still located inside drug stores where you could buy a hot water bottle and a shaving brush one aisle over.  Moreover, Wise’s closing means a significant site of Dana Heritage is now lost. I ate at that counter with many close friends over the years, some of whom have moved far away or with whom I have lost touch.  I shared many memorable moments there with my one true love.  On special occasions when Mrs. Hill would have an afternoon off, we’d have lunch together there at the counter.  And I know many others will miss Wise’s.  I even have two close friends who went to Wise’s directly after getting married last year in the courthouse downtown.  Since the closing was announced there have been long lines to eat, and while we were there this afternoon I could see some people weeping.

The economy being what it is, the building will probably sit empty for a while.  Eventually it’ll become a bar or club, or, more accurately, a series of bars and clubs that last a year or less each.

What a sad day.