February 20, 2007
Chicago Thaw
Looking over the bridge on LaSalle Street, 2/19/07
Despite the inauspicious beginning it was a lovely trip.
I saw the Saturday and Sunday matinées at the Joffrey. The long version will be in Ballet Review, the short version is it was worth the trip, and the alternate version lives here – Franklin, a fellow knitter and blogger was my companion on Sunday. He provided excellent company!
I saw several other good friends and got more sense of the city – what’s to get a sense of, it’s a grid, right? Yeah, and so are New York and San Francisco. Chicago’s grid has the added benefit of forcing you to memorize the early presidents in order.
Before going to Chicago, on David B’s recommendation I read Devil in the White City
The author, Erik Larson, is better on the Fair and its architects than he is on Holmes. It’s probably a good thing, but he has an easier time making more comprehensible men such as Daniel Burnham and Frederick Olmstead come to life than a psychopath such as Holmes who is fascinating in a grisly way, but ultimately reads as a cardboard cutout villain.
That said, Larson does some great things in this ripping yarn. The conjunction of the two plot threads isn’t just historically correct; Larson teases out the opportunity and energy in both Chicago and fin de siècle America that fed both builders and madmen. It’s a portrait of a city and a country that rings true. Larson also pays special attention to architecture that opens your eyes. It could also be that my friends David B. in Chicago (whom I just visited) and David S. who just moved to Atlanta from San Francisco are an architect and a landscape architect respectively. I found myself noticing the lampposts on Madison Avenue as my bus moved uptown on the way to Boston, and staring upwards at cornices and molded decorations.
Larson’s book captures one of Chicago’s most vigorous architectural periods; a trip downtown will bring you face to face with some of the buildings described, except, alas, the World’s Fair itself. What remains of it is far to the south; David took me there on my first visit to Chicago. My hotel (the Club Quarters Central Loop – gotten again on Priceline for $68/night) is right next to the Rookery, which housed the firm of Burnham and Root. Go to see the Joffrey Ballet at the Auditorium Theatre and you are in Adler and Sullivan’s masterpiece. To cap it off, go up the stairs in the Art Institute of Chicago towards their phenomenal Impressionist collection. There is an exhibit of fragments of ironwork and moldings from buildings designed by these very architects. You really are there.
After lunch with David on Monday, as he said with satisfaction the first day above freezing in Chicago in more than a month, I had two hours to kill before heading to O’Hare, and they were profitably spent at the museum. With only that length of time, I decided to see only the Impressionist and American collections, but that means one sees Caillebotte’s amazing scene of Paris in a drizzle, Seurat’s La Grande Jatte and van Gogh’s haunting and claustrophobic picture of his room in Arles. The American collection has Hopper’s brilliant Nighthawks and the iconic American Gothic, a painting that's a good deal better than the image that resides in everyone's imaginations. It was an excellent farewell to a vigorous city.
And to make mischief . . . Franklin looks very hot in leather.
⟨skips merrily away&rang
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February 17, 2007
At some point I had to experience the delay from hell
Five hours. I left the office at 6pm. I got to my hotel in downtown Chicago at 4:15 am local time.
It wasn't weather or runway, but the lack of a flight crew.
Ugh.
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February 13, 2007
Borders
I’ve always found borders fascinating.
I grew up in Mamaroneck, 26 miles to the north of New York City. The boundaries were complicated. There was a town and village of Mamaroneck; we lived in the unincorporated zone of the village. Four houses up the street, our neighbor’s home had its front yard in the village of Mamaroneck and its back yard in the town of Rye.
In 1979, when I was 15 I went to Finland for the summer and I stayed about 60 km from the Russian border. The family I stayed with asked a man, I think it was someone in the Finnish army, to take me there as a favor so I could see it. I was staying in Taaveti, to the east of Lappeenranta; Nuijamaa was to the west. I don’t remember much about the trip, though for some reason I have a feeling we took it in a Lada, but I have a snapshot of the border in my head. A grassy zone, yellow signs, coniferous forest beyond and a watch tower. As we gazed down at it, the man cautioned me about the border zone; walk into it and you risked getting shot. We stayed a safe distance behind.
The border was in the middle of a forest with no distinguishing feature to mark it. Like much of the border the United States and Canada, it was arbitrary. At least there is a river to cross between here and Mexico.
Among the possessions I lost when a box didn’t get loaded on a van during a move from 50th Street to 56th Street were my coin collection from childhood, my cookbooks (the loss I felt the most) and a photo album of a trip I took with my friend Dale to the Gaspé in 1986. We circumnavigated the peninsula and on the way back, stopped in a little hamlet called Estcourt. There’s a picture Dale took of me, now lost. I’m smiling, wearing a new sweater I had bought at Holt Renfrew in Quebec City and straddling the earth. One of my feet is in the United States, the other in Canada. There’s no difference in the ground or the features in the space between my feet, but one is in one country and one in another.
The town itself was as curious. The majority of it was in Canada, a small corner of it where we stopped in the United States. This part contained about four or five houses; families slept in Canada and ate breakfast in the U.S.. There was also a gas station, a drive in movie theater and a post office, all used to advantage by the Canadian residents. Amusingly enough, there was also a customs office. The thing was, the road from the town into the United States led into the Deep North Woods reserve, then petered out to nowhere. It was in the U.S., but you couldn’t get to it from there. All the cheap American gas had to either come from Canada or be shipped through it.
I get a small thrill from border signs. They demarcate a road trip and fill one with anticipation. “Connecticut Welcomes You”, “Welcome to Massachusetts” and then Boston approaches. “Welcome to New York, The Empire State” on I-95 means the lights of Manhattan will be visible in about half an hour. Border signs in other languages are even more exciting, “Bienvenue à Canada” or “Croeso I Gymru.” The drive from Bristol to Wales has a potently tangible boundary; crossing the Severn over the huge span of a new bridge that takes several miles to traverse.
The summer of 1987 was my first year up at Burklyn Ballet. I was a counselor; one Sunday when we were off, I took two of my favorite students, Virginia Batson and Alison Roper on a pleasure drive. Northern Vermont is astonishingly beautiful in the summer; one of the great pleasures is to just get lost. We headed north, probably towards Enosburg about an hour’s drive over country roads away.
We headed to the border. It was the country on a beautiful summer’s day; it didn’t occur to me I was transporting two minors without identification across an international boundary. Even only a few years ago there was less fear of kidnapping or terrorism; we crossed without incident. I can’t recall whether we were leaving the U.S. or returning, but we stopped at the border to take a picture, much like the one Dale had taken of me in Estcourt, and then we piled in the car to cross the border.
I’ve never had a car searched quite so thoroughly before.
The main border crossing in Vermont is at the end of I-89; an efficient toll site that takes one towards Montreal. One day a few years later, my friend Amy and I crossed that border in an enormous 1983 Oldsmobile Delta 88. We were randomly stopped at the checkpoint and examined. The immigrations officer asked Amy if she seeking work in Canada. Amy, who was just shy of 18 and auditioning for ballet companies, answered innocently “No, but I’d like to someday.” They smiled and let it pass. A small Quebecoise woman asked to look at the car. “Can you open the hood?”
“No.”
She looked at me quizzically.
“I really can’t.” I explained. “I don’t know how.” My father had given me the car right before I left. I was living in New York, and only used it in the summer and then when I left the city to work in small ballet companies. I filled it with gas and turned the key; I had no clue how the thing worked.
We did get the hood open and I stared at the enormous engine that I had never seen before in awe. I opened the trunk with alacrity; I was already embarrassed enough and at least that I knew how to open. The trunk was empty, a yawning cavern from a time when cars where huge. The inspector was short and lifted herself into the trunk to check for hidden items. She seemed to disappear into the trunk as Amy and I looked at each other, fighting giggles. Mischief always presents itself at the most inappropriate moment; it seemed way too easy to just close the trunk and drive off with an angry inspector inside.
The border from Vermont to Quebec is arbitrary at that point but the topography changes quickly, the horizon lengthens and flattens quickly once you enter Quebec. The excitement of a border is the excitement of change and transformation. It may not feel different when you cross from Connecticut to Massachusetts, but why does it when you cross from England to Wales, from Finland to Russia, from the United States to Canada?
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February 4, 2007
Four nice things about San Francisco
Tina LeBlanc – 42 year old mother of two. Danced the lead in Divertimento No. 15 on Friday, a lead in both The Dance House and Blue Rose on Saturday night and a lead in Artifact Suite on Sunday matinee. Looks fabulous. We hate her.
Artifact Suite – for someone as ambivalent about Forsythe as I am, these are strong words, but it’s the best ballet of the post-Balanchine/Ashton era. The first part is gimmicky with a fire curtain dropping with a clunk to the audience’s giggles, but the second part is an atomic age ballet blanc of extraordinary power. It’s on program one on Feb 8 and matinee and evening on the 10th. If you can see it, don’t miss it.
EOS Wine Bar – My friend Don and I went to dinner there before Saturday evening’s performance so I didn’t drink, but the food there is marvelous. It’s “fusion” which is more gimmicky as a concept than a result. The food is delicious, roasted Brussels sprouts with sesame, winey dumplings stuffed with shiitake in mushrooms, sea bass and especially black pepper filet with eggplant.
Opal Hotel – A very solid hotel bargain. $44 a night on Priceline got me a room. The décor is uninspiring (mmm, tan!) but the rooms are clean and the bed is comfortable. The price includes in room wired access (bring a long Ethernet cable), a fitness center with only barbells but good Lifecycle cardio equipment, and a convenient if uninteresting breakfast. The staff is helpful even if the room I got was close to the elevator. For $44, I wasn’t complaining.
Of course, the nicest things about San Francisco are Peter, Mark, Randy, Jim, Don, Jenny, Rachel, Paul and Helene. The only thing missing is David.
Be back home tomorrow.
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January 14, 2007
$17 off a jetBlue flight one way, $34 off r/t
From an Ad in Seventeen MagazineReceive $17 off the purchase of one-way jetBlue air travel
800-jetblue or jetBlue website
Enter promo code SEVENTEEN between 1/13/07 & 2/14/07 and receive $17 off
all published one-way fares between above dates. Travel must be complete by 2/14/07.Only available for new travel directly through jetBlue.
Ad States "limited availability".
I checked and it does take the $$ off both ways on a round trip. I am not sure if this is helpful for anyone, but if you need a quick trip from one of the locations jetBlue travels... hopefully this can save someone a few dollars.
This is an OK deal for a transcon, but a great deal for a less expensive short hop. JFK-Pittsburgh roundtrip is $45 with taxes, Chicago is $65.
Who can afford to stay home?
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January 3, 2007
Fare Glitch on CO - JFK/LGA to SFO for $158 + tax
This smells like a mistake; someone may have loaded a round trip fare for the one way cost.
LGA or JFK (not EWR) to SFO via IAH (translation for those who do not speak Airport Code - JFK or LaGuardia in NYC to San Francisco airport via Houston) is available for $158 roundtrip plus tax - a major sale. I grabbed it on Travelocity for $195 total, but it's now shown up on continental.com. I grabbed it for the first weekend in February to see San Francisco Ballet programs 1 and 2.
Dates available through March 9; my guess is it will be pulled very soon.
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December 22, 2006
NYC- Chicago fare sale
There are really good deals right now from all NYC airports to O'Hare. I believe jetBlue started with a promotion fare of $49 each way that the major carriers matched, then Airtran upped the ante to $39 and several carriers matched, including Continental and American, which has convenient non-stops and is discounting every day including weekends. I priced leaving 4/6-9 (out late Friday, back early Monday) $98.60 total. At that price, why stay home?
If you're a true miles whore, register for this AA promotion, take three round trips before February 28 and get 25,000 bonus miles. Note to balletomanes: The Joffrey is doing Destiny's Dances a triple bill of Les Presages, Apollo and The Green Table from Feb 14-25. It would be eminently worth traveling to see, but they are also doing almost the same program (Deuce Coupe instead of Les Presages) nearby at the Tilles Center on March 9 and 10 and SUNY Purchase on March 11. Alas, it's Les Presages that I want to see, so I just may be going to Chicago in February. American's flights at that time are about $148 total, but Continental has the $78 sale fare on 2/16-19.
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October 21, 2006
Portland: Coming and Leaving II
Bernie dropped me off at the hotel and I met my friend Joan Schrouder shortly after to go to Oregon Ballet Theatre. Joan is a knitting buddy. She teaches nationally; she and I met a decade ago at Stitches. After a quick Thai meal we walked to the Keller Auditorium. The crowd milling in front of the theater was more dressed up than I had anticipated; I forgot this was the opening night of the season.
When I invited Joan, I described the program as being “a great program for someone who doesn’t get to go to the ballet all the time.” This isn’t an insult; that’s 99% of OBT’s audience. We’re spoiled in the dance capitals. The company was bringing The Four Temperaments and The Concert to Portland for the first time. It was heartening to see the house very full. OBT danced 4Ts as I’ve seen other smaller regional companies do it – like a precious gift. It’s great to see it from a fresher perspective. Francia Russell, artistic director Christopher Stowell’s mother (and director emeritus at Pacific Northwest Ballet) set this version – which is slightly different than City Ballets (think pink lampshades instead of white ones). We know each other tangentially from the series of interviews I did with her in 1997 about Agon and Melissa Hayden’s coaching sessions at the Balanchine Foundation but we’ve talked more often than she’s seen me. I waved at her from my seat and she returned the greeting with the sickly look I recognized from the times I’ve had to warmly greet someone while I was racking my brains trying to figure out who they were.
A group of PNB dancers (I recognized Benjamin Griffiths and Jordan Pacitti) were two rows behind me to cheer on their fellow dancers; sure enough, there was Peter.
“You again!” I pointed at him in mock accusation.
“You’re everywhere,” he said, bemused.
The best part of all was that Joan loved the evening. It’s such a joy to take someone to the ballet that doesn’t usually get to go.
Sunday morning I was scheduled to meet internet knitting buddies at Mabel’s, a yarn shop/café. Just as I was about to find the #4 bus Gary called and asked me if I wanted a ride in the rain. We drove through bohemian neighborhoods across the Willamette River. I met Duffy and Melissa there and we spent a relaxing morning knitting and gabbing. I worked primarily on the sleeve of Owen Robert’s Aran. Duffy was starting the toe of a sock; Melissa was working on afghan squares in a mauve ombre alpaca and Gary was making a very simple scarf but in the most tactile yarn – Jo Sharp Alpaca Georgette. Really tasty stuff; we were all copping a feel. I took a tour round the shop, but beyond the Blackberry scone (thank you, Gary!) and the almond hot chocolate; I remained on my yarn diet.
I met Bernie and his daughter Gwen at the matinee. Gwen is getting ready to go down to Miami City Ballet to study at the school. Unfortunately but understandably, the Keller auditorium was more sparsely populated than at the opening and the performance was slightly weaker. One of the big differences between a smaller company and a major one is the depth of the company in casting. That’s a direct function of size. OBT may double cast each ballet, but they don’t really have two casts.
After the performance we walked around the fountain directly opposite the theater and I took a picture reminiscent of the Japanese Gardens.
We then went out for the seafood I had been craving at Jake’s. When in Portland, go to Jake's (Yes, it's part of a chain. No, it doesn't taste that way at all.) Get the crab and shrimp cakes, and also the Dungeness Crab Leg cocktail. They go perfectly together. If you ask nicely, the waiters might do half orders (ours added a crab cake to the plate to make for even splitting). I placed myself in the amiably pushy waitress' hands (I like waitresses who tell you what’s particularly good on the menu) and she insisted I have the locally caught wild salmon and then the Chocolate Bag for dessert. The salmon was cedar plank roasted with slight woody tang and exactly as she promised, the chocolate bag containing white chocolate mousse and berries in raspberry sauce was lighter than the description made one suspect. It was an absolutely wonderful meal, as was the company.
On Monday morning the sky began a sodden gray, but as in Vermont, the weather in Portland changes rapidly because of the mountains. It brightened up about an hour later and I had just enough to have time for a walk along the river – the hotel was right next to it. There were flocks of geese, leaves turning colors, boats and joggers.
I bought a blueberry muffin from a shop on the walk and sat down on a bench to watch the river.
By the time I rode back to the airport on light rail it was overcast again, but the scenery was still lovely with grays, greens and yellows. Portland, like Seattle, is a city that prides itself on quality of life; clean public transit and free wifi in the airport. It seems almost quaint to a New Yorker, we don’t do “quality of life” here. But then again, we can’t.
On the walk back from the river just as I got back to the Four Points, I paused to admire a climbing rose on the side of the hotel. Most of the flowers were fading, but lower down one was still in full flower.
It was a lovely way to say goodbye to the City of Roses.
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October 20, 2006
Portland: Coming and Leaving I
In four weekends I will have crossed the country three times. You wouldn’t think anyone would do this for pleasure, would you? The oddest thing about this was the productivity of these trips. I get a lot done on the plane and because of the three hour earlier time difference, a lot done in the early morning – knitting, writing and reading.
My route to Portland was an American Airlines transcon to SFO, connecting from there to PDX. I’ve taken the JFK-SFO flight several times before, but this time as I landed I realized my SFO-PDX flight wasn’t on AA metal; it was a codeshare on Alaska Airlines. With a sense of foreboding, I asked the man next to me if American and Alaska were in the same terminal. Of course they’re not. I have just over an hour between flights and headwinds are making the plane 10-15 minutes late. The sprint wasn’t desperate, but it was brisk; I had to leave terminal 3 and walk to terminal 1. You have to leave the secure area, but the buildings are connected by an interior corridor. The route is odd because it passes through what seems like a deserted concourse; you’re convinced you’ve gone the wrong way, but if you press on, the Alaska concourse is there. I had to check in yet again at Alaska and the self serve machine didn’t work, so I needed to wait for the ticket agent. At this point it was 7:24 and the flight left at 8:03. I knew I would make it, but I wasn’t thrilled about having to (politely) get his attention and tell him that I really needed him to check me in. Now. At security – which had a grand total of ONE checkpoint until they took pity and opened a second I showed the guard my boarding pass and he let me jump ahead in line.
Alaska Airline’s flight to Portland isn’t much more than an hour (think NYC to Boston or DC) and getting from PDX to the hotel is simple; the city has comfortable direct light rail for $2. The ticket machines even take credit cards. It took between 30-45 minutes to get to the city center, and a few minutes to orient myself and find the Sheraton Four Points. It was about 11 pm or 2 am in my body. There was one person at check-in. Alas, in front of me were a group of ladies with hairdos. They wanted to know about the garage. They wanted to know about billing. They wanted to know about rollaway cots. I put my head on the counter and started sobbing.
Once the ladies with hairdos were dispatched (it was bloodless) I settled into my room and found a deli a block away. The Four Points is a typical of the brand; smaller rooms and fewer services than a full Sheraton and less public space, but acceptable if you don’t need the services. Both wired and wireless is free, but wireless is unreliable – the signal petered out a few rooms up the hall. Luckily, I keep a 14 foot Ethernet cable packed in my suitcase. The hotel staff is very polite and competent, but there are too few of them. My room didn’t get cleaned the next day until after 6 pm.
I walked around the next morning, and saw a sign for Todai, a seafood buffet that also has a branch in NYC. Mmm. Fish. The buffet was on the fourth floor of a mall, after the meal in my distraction from trying to reach people on my cell phone I went to the bottom floor of the escalator, not realizing it was below street level. I spent five minutes trying to figure my way out of the mall.
In New York City, though the seasons change and you know it from the light and the temperature, you don’t always connect with the change; my usual walk to work doesn’t take me past many trees. Portland was coming into high color in an almost New England manner – maples in scarlet and yellow – and it was my chance to connect with fall.
A friend from Ballet Talk, Bernie, met me in the afternoon for a driving tour of downtown. Portland’s downtown is clean, charming and manageable. It seems to be from two different fin-de-siècles. Yes, we went past Powell’s. Bernie noticed me glomming endlessly on the trees and took pity; we went to Washington Park.
and saw the Rose Garden breathe its last soft sighs before the winter as well as the beautiful Japanese Garden. I’d say the garden is stunning, but it’s too contemplative to describe it that way. It’s on a few terraced acres and has several different aspects.
There are two Zen gardens, one (pictured) of sand
and one of weathered stones. Portland skyscraper seen through Bonsai.
The views everywhere were beautiful. Like the Bonsai, the entire garden was nature forced into ideals; an entire garden rigorously planned, pruned and bound to look “natural”.
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October 14, 2006
New Yorkers are very rare and delicate creatures
As Andrew Holleran said in Dancer from the Dance
Greetings from Portland, Oregon. I just spent five minutes trying to figure out how to exit a mall.
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October 2, 2006
Seattle
I sometimes wonder about my willingness to travel great distances for only a short period; it took as long to get here as to get to London. It was worth it; Seattle is quite pretty and it was a very productive weekend.
United Airlines flight 689 to Seattle involved a plane change at O’Hare but both planes operated with the same flight number. I packed lightly and dutifully put my toiletries in a Ziploc bag as part of our country’s ongoing War on Moisture. Security lines were slightly longer than I recalled but this was a peak time. At 3 pm on Friday it took about 20 minutes from arrival to the gate. I had requested to upgrade my fare with miles, but United had sent the wrong plane; an Airbus 320 that was part of their TED fleet instead of a Boeing 757. TED planes are all coach seating; I got no upgrade but what the hell, the fare was $141 roundtrip. I bet there were at least a few mildly ticked off elite passengers. A fellow in my row was bumped out of Economy Plus into a middle seat of . . .what’s the regular area called? Steerage? Economy Minus? Because of the late arrival of the incoming plane and runway delays at LaGuardia we were nearly an hour late into O’Hare; we arrived in B concourse and my connection to Seattle left from C17 in 33 minutes. I’m glad I packed light. I sprinted to C17 and said to the gate agent, “Hi, I just arrived from the New York leg of flight 689. Do I have time to pee?” Luckily, I did.
The ORD-SEA leg was on the proper aircraft (do they levy a fine for flying an Airbus into Sea-Tac airport, original home town of Boeing?). An hour into the flight I realized that the woman behind me was also knitting a sock, so that led to a very pleasant conversation that passed the hours until landing. We made up time on this leg so I only arrived in Seattle 30 minutes late and took the Kings County public bus into downtown. It’s the most inexpensive way to get downtown ($1.25) but there was quite a cast of characters on the bus; several inebriated vagrants, one of whom shouted “WOLVERINES!” when we hit Michigan Avenue, a pack of black girls jeering the vagrants and in the front several hapless tourists including me, all clutching our suitcases bemusedly. It wasn’t at all threatening. Just odd.
I arrived at the Renaissance Hotel at about 11:30 pm PDT. I left the office at around 1:45 pm EDT so it was more than half a day’s journey and my body thought it was 2:30 am. Though I arrived late, luck was on my side. The nice desk clerk gave me a corner room (perhaps a junior suite? It’s a living room and a small bedroom) on the 21st floor with views.
Sunrise
Sunset
So they’re of the highway, what the heck. The large buff colored building down the highway at the right is the headquarters for Amazon.
The Renaissance a nice hotel, though about due for a renovation; the decor feels slightly stale. At the price I paid ($65/night), no complaints at all. Free wireless in the lobby; a fitness center on the 28th floor. The fitness center is not great, not merely because the treadmill attacked me without provocation. There’s one Universal weight machine and no bench so weight training is limited to impossible. If all you want to do is use a stair climber or treadmill, it should be fine. There is a pool and whirlpool as well.
My friend Sandi and I met the next day and we caught up and then played tourist. Lunch was at Maximilien in the public market; the food was good, the view of the sound lovely (Sandi obligingly pointed out the mad parasailors madly parasailing in the cold water). The service was fine until when Sandi requested the check and the waiter pointedly put it in front of me because I was the man. Dude, I know you’re French, but it’s Seattle.
We played tourist and walked through the Public Market. I got fresh doughnuts from one stand; Sandi went to her favorite bakery and got croissants; in between we went to a cheese maker. As Sandi noted, they eat well out here. I’ve been to Seattle for only three short visits, but it did seem to be a city that prides itself on lifestyle. After lunch, we did a drive along the water – several different waterfronts. Seattle’s surrounded by them. In the evening, we went to PNB together.
I haven’t seen Peter Boal since well before he left for Seattle; we spotted each other immediately as he came from backstage into the auditorium. It was a warm meeting, but we each were trying to be respectful of the fact that there was a professional conflict; I was reviewing his company. What the hell, at this point I’m used to it. I’ve written my review and honestly believe it’s not different than what I would have written had I not known him. It was not, however, the review I thought I would write. I took a different angle. I assumed I would spend most of the review on Carla Körbes – for a New York audience she’s the most newsworthy thing – but she only danced in In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated and did fine, but she’s not a natural choice for the role; she’s a little too soft. So the review became more general. The company looks fine; rather than coming in and overhauling, Peter has mostly continued the work Kent Stowell and Francia Russell started.
I saw the matinee the following day. Walking there I took Sandi’s doughnut suggestion and stopped off at Top Pot Doughnuts, considered Mecca for the doughnutophile. I had a maple dipped old fashioned and a Double Trouble (a chocolate glazed chocolate doughnut). They were cakey and moist, but I’m about as discerning with doughnuts as I am with wine. I liked the ones I had in the Public Market more because they were still warm.
In the Middle got an electric performance from the first cast. Patricia Barker is retiring at the end of the season (Peter announced her farewell performance, which will be put together by him and Barker – as June 10, 2007); her performance in In the Middle was a fine way to say farewell to the role. Carrie Imler sailed through Theme. No surprise, she’s another CPYB girl; I know of three in the company (Imler, Noelani Pantastico and Kara Zimmerman).
For dinner, I wandered to the waterfront because I had a fish craving. I tried Elliott’s Oyster House and spent good money on good fish; a Dungeness Crab cocktail to start and a more elaborate grilled Coho salmon dish. The quality of the both the crab and salmon was quite good, but I still have nostalgia for when there were simple fish dives you could get a plate of broiled fish (and the plate had a blue or red rim), a baked potato in silver foil and two side dishes. I bet Seattle has them; I just don’t know where they are.
I got a tremendous amount of writing finished on this trip; an article on knit care for Knit.1; two pieces revamped from this blog for the newsletter of the Dance Critic’s Association and the PNB review. I even got plenty of knitting done (progress on a pair of socks and a baby sweater – I’ll blog on both soon.) Put me in a clean hotel room with a handsome view and the possibilities are endless.
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September 30, 2006
Beware evil treadmills - or: I am such an idiot.
Greetings from Seattle.
More on the trip later, but I need to tell this story while I'm still laughing.
The fitness center at the Renaissance Hotel (Yay, Priceline! $65 a night and it's a junior suite with a view) doesn't have an elliptical trainer, just stepping machines and a bank of treadmills. I don't usually use a treadmill, but I opted for it.
It's chilly here, so I wore a long sleeve shirt over a t-shirt. I also forgot to grab a towel before I got on the treadmill. Note these mistakes well.
After about 7 minutes of brisk walking I started to work up a decent sweat and tried to take my shirt off. While still walking. This involved letting my headphones dangle dangerously down on the treadmill, pulling my shirt over my head while still trying to walk and. . .before I knew it I had been deposited off the back of the treadmill like an OK, Go video.
For some stupid reason I thought I could just jump back on. A moving treadmill. Yup, I pitched forward, did a facefirst pratfall on the machine and then got transported to the back and unceremoniously off the back again. My pride was skinned more than my knees.
The worst thing was the place of course had five or six other people exercising, and they saw it. I felt like my first cat, Winnie, who used to jump onto the back of my folding chairs, causing them to fold right up onto her. She would slink away embarrassed, "I meant to do that . . ."
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 2:36 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 21, 2006
Travel and Priceline Update
I apologize for not posting on this topic for a while, much of the interesting stuff happened in July when I had blog fatigue.
For a few hours on July 11, United Airlines had a fare burp. In trying to match Southwest Airline's sale prices, they inadvertently set round trip prices at the one way fare, so New York to Seattle was as little as $136 including taxes.
I tried to tell people at the time but found the fare was being yanked from united.com even as I was trying to purchase it. Selecting flights, the fare was $136; at the payment page it leaped to $372.
I nearly chalked it up to experience but something told me not to give up so easily. I headed over to Orbitz, then Travelocity. No love for me. Then Expedia. Jackpot. The fare was still there, and I impulsively purchased a weekend in Seattle to see their opening night gala and a flight to Oakland to spend my birthday in San Francisco.
About two hours later when I looked at the calendar and sheepishly realized that I picked the weekend I was to teach entrelac in Long Island to go to Seattle I called Expedia contritely. United allows cancellations without penalty within 24 hours but Expedia adds a $30 administrative fee that I chalked up to experience, and rescheduled for two weeks following.
So I’m traveling quite a bit in the next few weekends. All of it I can blame on either Flyertalk or Fare Compare, the best places to catch wind of short lived sales.
End of September – Seattle. The UA fare burp. "Ooo. I can see Pacific Northwest Ballet." Priceline gave me love as well; Seattle hotel rates dropped for the fall and I got the 3* Renaissance downtown for $65.
Mid October – Portland, Oregon. Caused by AA's mysterious $99 NYC-PDX r/t offered last March. "Ooo. I can see Oregon Ballet Theatre." Priceline is being recalcitrant about Portland. Usually the 3* Doubletree Lloyd Center comes in at below $45. Up until bids of $64/night I was getting straight rejections. Now I am getting “raise your bid by $17 and we’ll let you rebid” so I know I am coming into striking range.
Mid October – San Francisco. Again, the UA fare burp. I have no self control. "Ooo. SF Ballet isn't on. I'm going to San Francisco for my birthday anyway." The routing is odd (I’m going home via LAX), but I’m on United’s P.S. transcontinental service homeward bound, so I upgraded to business class for 15,000 miles as a birthday treat. Little did I realize that my birthday is the beginning of %#^$#% Oracle World, which vacuums up 7000 hotel rooms in the city. I got the Hilton Financial Center for the first two days of my stay for $70, but could get nothing for the last night going up to $115. I have backup reservations at two budget options, the King George Hotel ($119) and the Grant Plaza ($77) – so I will ask local friends to check them out if they go by. If you know anything about either, feel free to comment. An excellent place to make hotel reservations for San Francisco is at HotelRes.com – rates are very competitive and they allow cancellations without penalty.
Mid November – Toronto. Cross-border fares are comparatively expensive – NYC-YYZ is often more than NYC-SFO. American Airlines offers a reduced price award ticket in the winter month; short haul hops of under 750 miles are only 15,000; Canadian destinations (Montreal, Toronto and particularly Halifax) work out to a much better deal than domestic short hauls. “Ooo. I can see National Ballet of Canada's new home at the Four Seasons Opera House.” I stay with my friends John and Chris in Toronto so no Priceline bidding. (John, if you’re reading this entry, can I stay with you?)
Thanksgiving – London. It wasn't in the budget. But then there was the Delta sale inaugurating their JFK-Gatwick route. $304 with taxes included. "Ooo. I can see the Royal Ballet’s triple bill with The Four Temperaments, and new MacGregor and Wheeldon pieces AND see my brother for Thanksgiving." I am so WEAK. Continental matched Delta’s fare, and I was torn between which to take (CO’s flight times were marginally better, but JFK is slightly easier to get to for me than Newark). I had done everything at continental.com but the final purchase details when I realized that my seat assignments were not taking, and instead I was getting a message “seat assignment at gate”. Calling CO, they are not allowing seat assignments to England. I could care less about terrorism. Hijack my plane and blow me up, but blow me up when I am sitting in an aisle seat, preferably when I can bring a bottle of water and @$&^%$! shampoo as carry-on. I explained to the sales rep that I knew it was not her decision, but they had lost a sale because I would not take the risk of being in a middle seat for 7 hours and booked on Delta. I then corrupted the perennially stylish Eve Ng, who wanted to visit her daughter in London but was hesitating until she saw the price. I booked Eve’s hotel for her, the Copthorne Tara in Kensington where I stayed last October; $92/night – I got it last year for $69. Prices on Priceline fluctuate strongly according to demand but there is a trend up as occupancy has improved. I have not yet booked my hotel; I’ll do it after I figure out when I am going to see my family in Bristol.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 11:17 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 11, 2006
A Day in Boston
I made a grand fraternal gesture yesterday. My brother flew in from the UK for a conference in Boston. He didn’t know the city, nor knew anyone there and he had two days to kill before the conference began, so I took an early bus up to Boston to spend the day with him.
Though it meant getting up obscenely early (for me, at least) on a Sunday, I had a great time. The 9:00 am bus was only about 30% full and got to Boston half an hour before scheduled arrival at 1:20. My brother was staying at the Hyatt Financial Center gotten (of course) via Priceline. Boston tends to be a very tight hotel market; I did the last minute bidding for moving upwards from $85. I had seen previously accepted bids at $120, but I got to $120 only to be rejected. With only two bidding opportunities left after free rebidding and no time to wait for a clean slate to re-bid, I raised to $130 and got the room for him.
The hotel is only a few blocks from Chinatown; I dragged Harry on the inevitable pilgrimage to New Saigon Sandwich, where I got a chicken teriyaki banh mi. He got roasted chicken and noodles and summer rolls; we took it all to eat in the Public Gardens by the swan boats.
After our impromptu picnic, I took him on a mini-tour of Boston.
First stop, my favorite church in Boston, Trinity Church. On Sunday entrance requires a tour, so we did not take the time. I stopped for nostalgia’s sake at 669 Boylston Street. The top floor was Marie Paquet’s studio, where I studied ballet in 1983-4 before I moved back to New York City. As time goes on, Boston is more and more like a room that I recognize, but someone’s moved all the furniture around. The entry at 669 no longer leads to the rest of the building; it’s only for the Aveda salon downstairs. From there, across Exeter Street and down Commonwealth Avenue, across Hereford Street past Marlborough and Beacon Streets, then over to the Charles River. We walked up the banks of the river, watching sailboats race and a particularly aggressive flock of geese worry some fallen apples and each other.
We left the river at the Hatch bandshell and walked up Beacon Hill. I know Back Bay very well from my years in school and immediately after – I went into Marie’s studio daily – but almost never had a reason to go to Beacon Hill. At first I thought the lamps had been refitted to electricity but on closer inspection I think they are still gas.
Coming back to Beacon Street, we walked past the gold-domed state house, and found our way back to the hotel. After a brief shopping excursion (what anyone who lives in the UK does when they visit the US) we went for decent Thai food at Montien Thai – right around the corner from Saigon Sandwich on Kneeland Street.
From there, he accompanied me to the bus station (a walk of only a few blocks) and I got on the 8 p.m. bus. It was packed full – I didn’t expect anything less from the next-to-last bus on a Sunday night, but the traffic was even better; we were at the gate of the Port Authority by 11:30 pm. The bus ride was slightly longer than the visit – I spent just under eight hours on the road – but it was profitably spent. I managed to knit a cap in DK weight yarn in its entirety.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 11:31 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 9, 2006
Bluebells
While in Wales, we went on a walk in a bird sanctuary at Llyn Brianne, during which we did not see a single bird of interest besides what one of us termed “LBJ’s” – Little Brown Jobbies. What we did see was the woods carpeted in bluebells. It was as if we were walking in a purple-blue sea amidst the foliage.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 4:12 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
June 8, 2006
Actually Knitting to Relax
Usually I hate the question asked if someone sees me knitting, “That’s very relaxing isn’t it?” Yesterday, I knit to calm down for the first time in a while. When I came to check in at 1 pm at the Hilton London Euston, after a 2.5 hour bus ride from Bristol and schlepping my heavy bags from Victoria to Euston on the underground, the clerk first asked me umpteen questions only useful for marketing (you don’t need my phone number in the US, and you don’t need my email address. GIVE ME MY ROOM.) Then he tried to downsell me into a single room when I had paid for a double - something hotels occasionally try and do if you've gotten the room on Priceline. I don't care if I'm only one person, the terms of Priceline are double accommodation. Do not even try and give me a single room - I deliberately use Priceline in London to avoid single rooms the size of closets. Then he told me to come back at official check-in, 3 pm. I went to the plaza outside of Euston Station and knit several squares of Fair Isle entrelac to release the pressure from the steam building between my ears.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 4:45 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 7, 2006
What kind of animals does one see in Wales?
One sees
Sheep (this one moved to the side of the road after stopping our car)
Peacocks (this one lives in Cardiff Castle, where I spent the afternoon knitting with Emily and Brenda!)
and
Basset Hounds (this one lives at Carlton House, where we dined, and is named Alex)
We even saw them on Tuesday instead of Thursday. Take that, Tbogg!
Off to catch a bus back to London - will talk to you again when I find net access!
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 2:28 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
May 18, 2006
My hovercraft is full of eels . . .
I apologize for the recent blogging silence – I’m leaving for Russia next Wednesday (!) and I’ve been trying to clear stuff off my plate.
I guess I am about as ready as I will ever be: Did I finish any of the books I bought about St. Petersburg to read? Nope. I got about half way through Kchessinka’s memoir, and will probably bring that and Solomon Volkov's book with me, as well as the guides. Tonight, I watched Russian Ark with a friend. I have also been using the Pimsleur Basic tapes. I studied Russian for a year in college, so it’s resurrection rather than new learning. I find the method effective – these work with purely spoken language and have no written component, but it forces one to converse. Still, as I walk down the street saying
Что бы Вы хотели? I keep thinking of the Monty Python Sketch with the Dirty Hungarian Phrasebook: “My hovercraft is full of eels.”
I found a walking tour to take the first day I am there; I will try to arrange something to Peterhof and the Hermitage as well. I recently spoke to Alexandra, she insisted that I go to the Yusupov Palace; she filmed a part of a documentary there. How could I refuse?
I redeemed 120,000 Goldpoints for the four nights at the Radisson, and amazingly that happened pretty much as I predicted. I’ll reconfirm reservations for everything including the Marriott and Radisson over the weekend, and see about airport transfers.
In the end, I used Priceline for my London hotels, in the Bloomsbury-Marble Arch zone rather than cheaper but more distant Kensington. I’m staying first at The Cumberland at Marble Arch, then the Hilton London Euston – opaque bidding in London especially is a grab bag. The Cumberland went for $102/night ($100 was not accepted) and the Hilton for $103. With taxes in both cases it’s about $125/night; a decent price in London for an acceptable hotel. In between those stays I go to Bristol to visit family with an afternoon in Cardiff to visit fellow knitters! Being cheap, I do that via bus for £1.
Now that I've finished scheming for this vacation I've exhausted my Asia Miles, Goldpoints and Marriott points. But I have not exhausted my scheming. Currently, I'm about to finish up accumulating enough TrueBlue points on jetBlue for a free flight. I earned half of them on the two trips to California; I figured I would apply for the jetBlue Amex so I could get the flight. I’m also collecting USAir miles via their co-branded Juniper card, as well as Starpoints and some Marriott points via a targeted double point offer.
So where do I want to go?
Here's the list:
Prague-Vienna-Budapest
Barcelona
Kyoto-Tokyo
Australia-New Zealand
to say nothing of return trips to Buenos Aires and Chicago as well as other repeat destinations (London, San Francisco, Paris, Toronto) .
Anybody feel like going?
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 11:45 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
May 7, 2006
City of Big Showtunes III – A Chicago Journal
As with Saturday, I spent Sunday morning alternately writing and procrastinating. That’s why I get to write articles on project management! I took the Red Line uptown to Uptown – David’s neighborhood (he lives equidistant from the Lawrence and Argyle stops). I told him I would call him when I was approaching so that he could meet me at the station (the ride is 20-30 mins). “David, I’m at Addison, who are all these people in funny hats with “C”s on them and why are they all getting off the train?” I had timed my trip to coincide with the rush of Cubs fans heading for a game at Wrigley Field.
David met me at the station; I already had plans for lunch. When we had walked to Argyle the night before on the way to the Joffrey I saw that this was a neighborhood packed with Vietnamese and Thai restaurants and joy of double happinesses, there was a Vietnamese Bakery selling Banh Mi. I think I am making it a rule to try Banh Mi in every city I visit. The irony is I have never eaten one in New York. The bakery is called Ba Le and is mentioned on Chowhound and other online food sites, though I found it by serendipity. We split a Chao Tom – shrimp wrapped in sugar cane and a BBQ pork (thit nuong) Banh Mi. It falls well above those I have had in Toronto, but below those in Boston or San Francisco. The bread is baked on the premises, but heavier than in SF and Boston and the pork filling a bit less interesting. David also got a banana tapioca dessert that tastes suspiciously enough like vanilla yogurt that I think it is mislabeled. Sandwiches are $2.95 apiece; we spent about $8 with tax.
I wouldn’t have done this in New York, but since I am in Chicago and not knowing when I will have an opportunity to try these restaurants again, I convince David that the Banh Mi was but an appetizer and drag him across the street to one of the pho restaurants; Pho Xe Tang, or “Tank Pho”. The logo is, unnervingly a military tank. The place is absolutely packed, which I take a good sign. We split summer rolls (Goi Cuon) and then both get gringo pho (I#43 on the menu, no tendon or tripe). David was a bit nonplussed by the size of the portion. As Mom said often when I was a kid, my eyes are bigger than my stomach so to his shock I finished the bowl – he made it through about one quarter and took the rest home. Right next to his house there is a community garden; David said that much of the produce grown there was grown by the Vietnamese and ended up in these restaurants. It seemed quite plausible; the bean sprout and herb plate that comes with pho contained some saw-toothed leaves that they don’t include in New York, and I bet were grown a few blocks away. The pho was quite good and the meal for two with tax and tip was $20.
I waddled back to David’s place where Gatsby was waiting. Gatsby is David’s marvelous pooch, a mix of Basenji, Sheltie and probably Shepherd since he is bigger than both the first two breeds. I tried to take some pictures of Gatsby, but sadly the batteries I bought on the trip crapped out after one bad photo (lesson learned – only use alkaline batteries in a digital camera). The most important thing to know about Gatsby is that he has a Kong. To non-dog-owners, this object is a mystery. Dog owners will know it well. I mentioned it to my neighbor Janet and her response was “Oh yes. Mozart [her border collie] has two.” “It’s a fetch toy and it looks like a butt plug,” David explained helpfully. Gatsby, still very active at 11, has a clearly defined Kong ritual, or at least we created one together.
Pace back and forth on the parquet flooring.
Click click click click
Click clickety click clicky.
When the human finally gives in and notices you, drop spittle-drenched Kong in his lap.
Human picks up Kong (gingerly).
Human moves it slowly. Prick up ears and be very attentive.
Human suddenly tosses Kong straight up in air. Leap and make spectacular mid-air catch.
Drop spittle drenched Kong in his lap.
Repeat.
David asked me if I wanted to go to the Art Institute or Oak Park to see more stuff by Frank Lloyd Wright but by this point (2:30 pm) it was too late and I was too lethargic from the meal. What I really wanted to do was take a nap, which I did on Gatsby’s sofa. This suited David, who used the time to potter around and do odd jobs. When I got up, we headed back two stops on the Red Line for my walking tour of Boystown. As we passed Addison on the train, we could see a blue flag hoisted above the stadium with an L. The Cubs lost.
Sidetrack is a Chicago institution. It’s now expanded over four storefronts (David called it “the bar that ate the North Side” and Sunday afternoons seem to be a particular institution. The theme on the video monitors is Showtunes. The gayest show tunes, including Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and Funny Girl. To fully experience it, go to the darker middle bar rather than the airy glass roofed one. That’s where the Showtunes veterans are, and that’s where they shout the alternate lyrics. Think of it as an even gayer “Rocky Horror”. The best I heard was during Evita; the camera moved from Madonna singing to a shot of Antonio Banderas’ face in a crowd, and the regulars shouted, “THERE’S WALDO!” At the tumultuous end came a shower of cocktail napkins and the cheery but long suffering bar back with a broom and dustpan to sweep them up. It’s quite a phenomenon; someone even did a grad school paper on it – but then again, no topic is too arcane for a grad school paper.
Also in the bar I also met Adam, whom I knew from years back when we took ballet classes together. He stayed at the Joffrey and is now helping run the company. We had a long, funny and interesting conversation about the ups and downs of the company. It seems all of Chicago is there on a Sunday afternoon.
From there, David took me to his favorite hangout in Chicago, The Pepper Lounge. This was a perfect complement to Sidetrack; a small and mixed hangout that served good drinks and good food. It’s extremely friendly, but since David is a regular we got even warmer treatment, and a free mini shot of some delicious chocolately poison. David joked that he didn’t take dates there anymore because the proprietor was giving them thumbs up or thumbs down. We stayed at the bar and chatted with Rex, the bartender, who moved to Chicago from San Francisco. Yes, people do that. David felt that Chicago’s winters are exaggerated, but they were taking about days that you had to wear three scarves. To me, bitter is single digit Fahrenheit; they were talking -10°F. NYC definitely has winter, but that’s about 20 degrees colder than deep winter here; we have the ocean and the concrete to warm things up.
David had his signature martini, dirty with blue cheese stuffed olives. Are blue cheese olives a Midwestern thing? I have never seen them at a New York bar. I had some sort of pansy drink that was pink and peachy. I freely admit to being a pussy boy drinker who can't hold his liquor and prefers sissy drinks, preferably those that have umbrellas in them. Because of the enormous lunch, we only had appetizers but the portions were generous enough to serve as dinner. David had the tuna tartare, I had the beef medallions; both were delicious. Prices are not cheap (a drink and an appetizer came to $29 with a generous tip) but I felt they delivered for what they charged.
Fed and buzzed, I headed back on the El to my hotel and my 5:30 am wakeup call. My internal alarm clock didn’t trust the hotel’s and woke me up at 4:00 am anyway. I wrote a bit, checked out and headed to the airport, contemplating a jam-packed flight with an upgrade that did not clear. It took just about an hour again from hotel to gate; but part of that was luck. The security line was horrifyingly long, but the TSA employees started plucking out anyone whose flight was less than an hour ahead; mine was exactly at the cutoff time, so they took me to a concession screening area and I got through in five minutes.
The airport gods kept smiling on me. At the gate I approached the agent and said that I didn’t expect anything but could she check on if an upgrade was possible? “Are you Platinum?” she asked. I am Gold, having slipped from Platinum. She looked and said, “Believe it or not, you’re at the top of the upgrade list and I can clear you.” A mystery, but I have two theories. I made the upgrade request at the time I booked the ticket and I was Platinum at the time – AA seems to rank upgrades on your status at the time of the request, rather than at the time of the flight. Also, earliness of check-in matters, and web check in counts. I checked in online almost as soon as applicable. It was a bulkhead seat without any storage on the floor, but as I said before, it beats coach.
And then a few days later I even got miles for the meals at the Signature and Pepper Lounges!
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 7:01 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 6, 2006
City of Big Showtunes II – A Chicago Journal
I picked a gray, drizzly weekend to visit Chicago. David took me on a driving tour that started on Lakeshore Drive heading south. As David said about the city “We have a spine” – that spine is Lakeshore Drive. It seemed most of our travel was north or south along it (or on the Red Line El) – in that way it reminded me of my trip to Palm Springs where I spent much of the day either going up or down Palm Canyon Drive. The flowering trees were in bloom in as well as tulips as we headed south.
My friend John lives in one of the other Great Lake Cities, Toronto. When I mentioned Chicago to him, his comment was “They did their waterfront right.” – which was truer than I thought on reflection. Toronto’s long east-west waterfront is little more than condominiums. Chicago made an ordinance that the east side of Lakeshore Drive was public land. The views are unspoiled and the public uses it. We started at the site of the Columbian Exposition. David recommended the book Devil in the White City
It and the Palace of Fine Arts - now the Museum of Science and Industry are the only two original structures left. The building reminded me of San Francisco’s Palace of Fine Arts; both were built for major exhibitions and both had similar caryatids.
We went as far south as the Chicago Cultural Center and then turned back to the campus of the University of Chicago, where I saw what I think is my first Frank Lloyd Wright house – the Robey House from 1907.
David thought the interior was comparatively disappointing, so we headed back to the center of the city and Millennium Park. (Follow the link - it's a great website.)
Millennium Park is the city’s newest showcase. The Harris Theater anchors the park with a bandshell designed by Frank Gehry. You can tell; it looks like a sea anemone made out of crumpled tinfoil. NYCB is coming there in October, much to the delight and anticipation of Chicago Balletomanes. The programs look wonderful, but Good Lord, the prices. Tickets start at $65. Chicago is going to have a great fall for ballet. Besides NYCB, they are getting the Kirov Ballet in Swan Lake at the beginning of November. At the beginning of October, the Joffrey is doing not any old Cinderella, but Ashton’s.
Behind the theater lies “The Bean” – a highly polished arch that has a real name "Cloud Gate", but everyone calls The Bean because of its shape. Walking underneath it and looking up gives the most astonishing optical illusion of being underneath a tower when the vault is only a few feet high. Alas, it doesn't really show in the photo.
Continuing on a bit is Crown Fountain, two towers of cascading water that add modern technology by projecting enormousfaces that pucker and then spew water. Kids love it; I thought it was a wee bit gross, but then, I have a dirty mind.
The Art Institute of Chicago is nearby, but that is enormous and will have to wait for another trip. We walked round the loop instead and looked at the river and the buildings along it. There are glass boxes as in New York, but the feel of Chicago’s skyline seems to come from the early Gothic revival skyscrapers that reminded me of the Woolworth Building here. The Marquette Building, right around the corner from my hotel, houses the MacArthur Foundation (of "Genius Grant" fame – it’s their building) and tiled lobby mosaics reminiscent of the Woolworth Building as well.
Walking back to David’s car, instead of documenting the architecture, I was taken aback by a wedding cake in a Chinese Bakery that was a veritable Habitrail of brides and grooms ascending and descending a multiple cake structure. I assumed it was a leftover from a Unification Church wedding.
That's me taking the picture. Before we got to the car, David’s cell phone rang. It was his friend, Evil Gay Lawyer, who had been stood up (or so he thought) . We headed north once again on Lakeshore Drive to pick him up and get a late lunch or early dinner. Per David Andersonville is where the Swedes were and the Lesbians are. If you’re a Swedish Lesbian, it must be paradise, but I saw neither. We were headed to Jin Ju for Korean Food, but it was not serving yet so went to Ladonna – an Italian restaurant with deliciously silken pumpkin ravioli. I took the waitress’ suggestion and tried the butter and sage sauce instead of the balsamic cream. I’d recommend it, the sage sets off the sweetness of the pumpkin. And Evil Gay Lawyer? Well, it’s only a single impression but I’d say he’s pretty much like his blog.
To simplify David’s life (we’d now headed up and down Chicago a few times) we took the El back downtown to see the Joffrey Ballet do the Cool Vibrations program at the Auditorium Theater. I’m reviewing the program for Ballet Review, so can only comment cursorily here. I was glad to see a full house; Chicago has a notoriously bad record of supporting their ballet companies. I wonder if the reason Joffrey has survived a decade is because they aren’t from Chicago, but rather moved there. The program was a revival of Twyla Tharp’s Deuce Coupe, a new work (Motown Suite) by Donald Byrd and a revival of the first part of Billboards by Laura Dean. Of the three, I found the Tharp piece the most interesting.
It was a very full day. I walked David to the El and headed back to the hotel to transcribe notes and to write an article for Knit Simple for which I was about to blow the deadline. I got it in late, but not so late that anyone minded – the delicious irony was that the article was on how to get your knitting projects done on time.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 11:11 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 4, 2006
City of Big Showtunes – A Chicago Journal
In November of last year the airlines had a fare sale to Chicago. I’ve never seen the city, so found a weekend in the spring that the Joffrey Ballet was performing to kill two stones with one bird. I asked my pal David in Chicago about the city; it turned out he hasn’t been to NYC in two decades and the fare worked in both directions. So we decided upon a gay version of AFS. I went there last weekend, he’s coming here next and each gets to show off our city.
I traveled after work on a Friday and flew AA first class; I had upgrade points. Not bad for a $131 fare total. The flight to Chcago is about two and one half hours. On AA it’s on an MD-80, in first class it’s two by two seats with a 39 inch seat pitch and they served dinner. Someone had the brains to cater braised boneless short ribs; a dish that benefits from reheating. AA First Class not the Ritz, but that flight was booked solid and a seat in a full first class is infinitely preferable to a seat in a full coach section.
The El Blue Line runs directly into Chicago; it costs $2 and takes 40 minutes – in my case I was at my hotel a bit under one hour from arrival at the gate. The El runs on a fare card system – there are machines at the terminal; bring dollar bills (the cost is $2) or coins. As far as I could tell, there’s no volume discount on the card, so it doesn’t make sense to pay for several rides at a time except for convenience.
I stayed at the Club Quarters, Chicago Loop on West Adams (Priceline, 3* Loop, $70/night). The neighborhood feels like lower Manhattan in NYC, a business section that is vibrant during the daytime and clears out at night. The hotel itself was perfect for a single traveler; the rooms are compact with double beds, but not at all claustrophobic and well designed for work – but they only have showers rather than bathtubs. I was given a room with a double bed; though more than enough for me, it would have been close quarters for a couple. I didn’t use the fitness center or the lounge, but the lounge was pretty constantly occupied. Service was accommodating; there is free wireless but signal is of varying quality. I’d have no problem staying here again at all.
David picked me up at the hotel and drove north. He is an architect, so pointed out designs and landmarks along the way, although it would have to wait for daylight for me to understand more intuitively the lay of the land. We parked at his office and walked a few blocks to the Hancock Building. The Signature Lounge on the 96th Floor was David’s planned destination. In his opinion, it’s the most reasonably priced view of Chicago, and on the only clear night for the weekend it was quite magical.
The city spreads out for miles below in a rigorous grid and boy, does it seem flat and large. David pointed out sites and told me Chicago lore. We got drinks and mediocre sandwiches, either is about $10 per item. You’re eating and drinking the view.
It had been a long day so I headed back to the hotel afterwards for a full day of sightseeing the next day.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 6:49 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
April 9, 2006
Caveat Emptor – Best Price Guarantees and Londontown.com
You may be familiar with Hotwire's “Double the Difference” guarantee or any of the price matching guarantees that many travel booking sites offer.
Londontown.com has one of the most extravagant of all of them, offering a full four times the difference in price if you find an identical booking for less.
Sounds too good to be true? That’s because it is.
I booked the Kingsway Hall Hotel on Londontown.com for £638 for four nights in a fully cancelable booking. Not only was it not the cheapest price; it wasn’t the cheapest by a longshot. Bookings.org had the same room for £396.
I checked the terms of the offer carefully before filing a claim. Exact same room type. Both rates included V.A.T. Both came without breakfast. Both were fully refundable and neither involved prepayment. So I sent my claim in and waited.
Londontown.com’s acknowledgement states they will get back to you within four working days; after four days I sent in a reminder and waited for a response.
It came a day later, here it is reprinted in full:
Dear LeighMoney Back Guarantee
Thanks for your email to LondonTown.com and for drawing this cheaper rate to our attention.In order to be eligible for our Best Price Guarantee your "cheaper rate" needs to meet the terms & conditions outlined on our site: These are the terms and conditions of the Best Price/No Quibble Guarantee offered by LondonTown.com to you in relation to hotel accommodation:
Our promise to you:
1. The website www.londontown.com (the "Website") is owned and managed by London Marketing.com Limited ("London Marketing"). London Marketing GUARANTEES to pay to you 4 times the difference in price if, within 48 hours of making a hotel booking through the Website, you find an "identical offer" not through the Website, which is lower in price than the price advertised on the Website at the time the "identical offer" is found (the "Guarantee").
2. An "identical offer" means an offer which, aside from price, is identical in all respects, such that it can be accessed and booked by the public for the same hotel, same room type, same number of guests, same currency, same applicable taxes, same dates, and the same terms of payment and cancellation.
Unfortunately the offer you located on www.booking.com has a 24 hour cancellation. The booking you made through www.LondonTown.com has a 2pm on the day of arrival cancellation policy.As your lower rate does not identically match the rate booked through www.LondonTown.com I am afraid that your claim has been unsuccessful.
I hope you have a fantastic time in London.
Best wishes and thank you
Nadine
Thanks for the good wishes, Nadine. My favorite part is the Orwellian humor of a “No Quibble” guarantee that denies a claim based on the fact that though both rates were fully cancelable, there was a less than 24 hour difference between the two cancellation policies. In short, though this should be no surprise, it would have cost them more than £900 to honor their guarantee. They were going to deny on absolutely anything.
They’re within their rights to do this; the claims were not identical down to the DNA, and as they say in their terms and conditions:
5.London Marketing at its sole discretion will decide whether you have a valid claim under the Guarantee and will, as soon as possible, inform you whether your claim under the Guarantee is valid.What this translates to is it’s their decision and their choice. They will honor a rate it suits them to honor. I'm glad that I had a fully cancelable rate and I wouldn't have even tried this rate if it were not cancelable without a penalty. They’re not the only one to do this; most of the low-price guarantees aren’t worth the pixels they are printed on because of the identical booking clauses. Octopus Travel had a better rate at the Birmingham Hyatt in England than Hyatt.com. I called Hyatt and they refused to match the rate because the rate on Hyatt.com did not include breakfast and the rate on Octopus Travel did. It was cheaper and included more; therefore it could not be covered by their guarantee. Catch-22. Gary Leff mentioned to me that the same thing happen to him at Starwood. I have, however heard of several people successfully claiming the Double the Difference guarantee at Hotwire.
Looking at their site, Londontown.com had several rates that seemed advantageous but they quote without VAT, which raises the rates considerably. Do they have the lowest prices? Occasionally - I found a few rates that looked better than elsewhere. Will they actually guarantee you the lowest price? No. Does that guarantee mean you’ll get the lowest price? God, no. You’ll only get that the old-fashioned way, by comparison shopping. The guarantee’s purpose is to dupe you, not to protect you.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 10:57 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
April 6, 2006
Car Culture – Southern California and the desert, III
Lesson about the intersection of one interest group with another: There may be none.
At the Sunday Brunch, the Flyertalkers had a gift exchange. Suggested value was $10; I put in a few electronic gewgaws (wireless card, retracting cable) a wallet (the same kind as I use myself – I think it’s great) and one of the knitted hats I made. It was in a small anonymous red bag. I have no idea how it got picked first.
The geegaws didn’t seem to bother the poor fellow. The wallet confused him – apparently everyone assumed there must be more cash or a gift certificate inside, right? The he pulled out the hat and was utterly flummoxed. Knitters would have known that it was handmade, but this wasn’t a gathering of knitters. I apologized to him afterwards. Next time I’ll do what’s expected of me and slip in a few gift cards instead. It’s cheaper in a sense, and I’ll save my knitting for more appropriate occasions.
I had already checked out of the David Lynch Suites and had a few hours to kill, so two other fellows and I went on a drive suggested by Joe. “Go down 111 a few miles into Rancho Mirage until you hit Monterey or Highway 34 or 134. Turn right, towards the mountains. It’s beautiful up there.”
Monterey is a main intersection; the highway in question is route 174 towards Hemet and San Diego. Well, he didn’t say “you can’t miss it.” We didn’t have time to go too far, but the road wound mountains strewn with pebbles and boulders in a rocky landscape that was almost Biblical in imagery. A few miles up there is a turn off with a scenic view down into the valley.
The three of us drove back, one got dropped off at his hotel, a second drove to Ontario for his 7 pm flight and I went to Joe’s room so I that could change into a black t-shirt and jeans. That would have to pass for appropriate leather-bar drag. We all went to The Barracks.
Oh, the humanity.
I haven’t been to a bar that crowded in a while. I made it with the group about 10 feet on to the back patio, found a few square inches of room behind some sort of sign and slipped in there, having a pleasant conversation with “Dek” most of the time. I haven’t been to a leather bar in ages, either. As Mr. Semi-Fashionable, I must say: Bears are not my thing, though I have nothing against them, nor fur. I admit that I’ve never liked tattoos, but tattoos with hair growing out of them are the be-all and end-all of Yuck.
15 of us headed to dinner at the Red Tomato, a friendly and campy place with decent homey Italian food and Albanian lamb dishes. The Panzanela relish mentioned in the article is delicious; rather like gazpacho as a dip. One of the other guys recommended the lasagna, so I had it. Regarding camp – I forgot to mention it, but there was one waiter at Wang’s who took the prize – probably in his early 40s, dark skinned and a fading beauty who had something to say about everyone’s habits and orders and an ever so special way of pursing his lips. We ended up referring to him as “Bitter Waiter”.
I was taking the red eye that left Ontario at 12:30 am, so I left Palm Springs at 9:15. On the way home I finally figured out how the cruise control on the car worked and almost, just almost got the hang of driving so that I felt comfortable. Even late on a Sunday night with light traffic there was still one 15 minute delay right near I-15. I’m glad I left extra time. The Ontario airport isn’t crowded, but it also isn’t efficient; as I said earlier there are no check-in kiosks for jetBlue, so if you can use online check-in, do it. I slept almost all the flight home and arrived back sleep-deprived, but as with my last California weekend, having packed in a wonderful time.
One last random tip: Neutrogena sunblock is awfully good. I spent all day out in direct sunlight without burning or needing to reapply.
Posted by Leigh Witchel at 7:27 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
April 5, 2006
Car Culture – Southern California and the desert, II
The jetlag caught up with me on Saturday morning and I woke up exhausted. The Comfort Suites includes breakfast in the price of the room. It’s a negligible affair; cereal, packaged pastry, bagels and toast and the ubiquitous Make Your Own Belgian Waffle machine that everyone (including me) likes to play with. As I was getting cereal an older gentleman in a black t-shirt knocked into me, apologizing profusely. The hotel had about 5-6 tables only in their breakfast area, so there was no where else to sit and I ended up eating with him, and what turned out to be his partner. Though this was not a gay hotel (there are a profusion of those in Palm Springs) it was pretty obvious quickly to all concerned that this was the queer table. It may have been when he started talking about walking down the streets in Amsterdam in full leather while traveling. Turns out he was a periodontist originally from Pelham Parkway in the Bronx. He was a very nice man, but the thought of a periodontist in full leather makes me think of the dentist from Little Shop of Horrors.
I was to meet Joe and the gang to go on the aerial tramway at 11 am. I had asked him how to get there the night before. “It’s about two miles north of town on 111, the main drag. It takes about half an hour to get there. You can’t miss it.”
Ah, but you can.
I ended up going all the way to I-10 not seeing a sign for a turn off to the tram. It also takes a bit more than half an hour from Cathedral City if one is going through town (and taking pictures of the mountains through your windshield).
Turning back from I-10, there is a small sign on 111 heading towards town that indicates that the tramway is half a mile ahead on the right. For the record, the turn (left if heading west, right if heading east) is on San Rafael.
The road to the tramway wends steeply up a mountain for 2.5 miles climbing to 2,000 feet in altitude. I got to the parking lot at 11:25, where a tram takes you to the base station. I made it there at 11:40, after the ticket lines I finally made it on the 12:00 noon tram.
Some people would find a cable car with enormous glass windows (some that open slightly) and a slowly rotating floor to be exhilarating. Some of us just want to lie on the slowly rotating floor and barf. I’m not frightened in an airplane, but this has the same feeling as a Ferris wheel to me; that of stupid danger. I can't help but mentally calculate the drop when one of those 9 lb per inch super sturdy cables malfunctions. The car sways as it passes over each tower. Everyone oohed and aahed. I just wanted to slug someone.
It was about 80 degrees in Palm Springs that day; it was 52 at the top of the tram but there was still snow on the ground. Children were running around making snow angels. Southern Californians think snow is charming. I like winter, but it's not unfamiliar to me, and it wasn’t what I had flown six hours and paid $21.50 to get up to the top of the mountain to see.
A couple from North Carolina, “stsebastian” and “Bluesincenew” (I know fellow Flyertalkers better by their screen names than their given names), were coming up the hillside at the upper station just as I was heading down to explore. They had taken a lightning fast tour; that didn’t inspire much ambition in me either. I walked around for about 15 minutes, came back up and met with a few people in the group and headed down again; staying closer to the center of the car this time.
The Renaissance Faire was what had brought Grace up to Palm Springs, and as she said, “How could you possibly miss the chance to see me in garb?”
As Grace explained, Faire is a little like a sci-fi convention, only in medieval garb. Some people strove for accuracy, many more to satisfy their own fantasies, including the guy with nice pecs and a sword strolling about bare-chested in leather chaps. When I saw him later with his girlfriend I wanted to take him aside and explain that his outfit was really, well . . . gay. But in a good way. And I should know.
Grace was dressed in peasant garb, eschewing the dark heavy fabrics and feathers of the nobles walking about. “Way too hot,” she explained with her usual practicality. We walked about; she was knitting a sock – her concession to period was using double pointed needles (I don’t think that’s a concession for her; I think she uses dpns for sock making. I use Addi 12” circular needles – not everyone likes them but they’re a lot faster for me). I recognized the yarn (Lang Jawoll cotton superwash) and even the color, because I made a pair for myself in that very yarn and color.
For me, the interesting thing about Faire was the sexuality of the subculture. Part of the fun of the d