Oct 15
JeremySociety and Culture, Travel Boston, eye contact, manners, New England, rude, Travel
Yet again today, I read a comment online today about how Boston is the rudest city in the country, implying that visitors (or even residents) should not expect courtesy here. Sadly, I hear this all too often and, even sadder, it’s born of misperception rather than truth. The people of Boston and the surrounding communities, the ones who were raised here and whose families have lived here for years, are not fundamentally rude. They are, however, culturally different from their counterparts in other cities. Once you understand the fundamentals of how the people of the Northeast operate, you will see them in a new light and understand how to interact with them. Keep in mind that Boston was founded by Puritans and 350 years later that still affects the way we act and what we consider to be proper manners. To help get you through, here are a few rules of the road:
Rule #1: Don’t look anyone in the eye. Okay, you can look some people in the eye, but only people you know well and only in a clearly social or private business situation. In a public setting, making eye contact is considered an invasion of privacy and, hence, very rude. The irony is that when someone passes you on the sidewalk and doesn’t look at you, they are trying to be polite by Boston instinct rather than being rude as is perceived.
Rule #2: If eye contact is bad, greeting people is worse. Bostonians don’t greet anyone they don’t know well, unlike other cities where friendly folk may say hello to everyone they meet. Basically, here are the rules. For people you don’t know at all, no eye contact, no nothin’. For people with whom you are vaguely acquainted, but necessarily remember their names or only met them once or twice, a brisk nod suffices as a proper greeting when passing. (Like the guy I went on a date with a couple years ago who shows up on the T once in a while.)
Rule #3: Ask for help if you need it. People won’t go out of their way to offer your assistance. Yep, it’s that privacy thing again. It’s rude to get involved in the troubles or difficulties of others unless requested. Clearly, imminent threat to life and limb is an exception to this rule, but it is otherwise true. The problems of other people should be kept private. Of course, that doesn’t mean that behind closed doors, problems can’t be discussed. We’re talking about public behavior here. Out of sight, you can talk to your friends about them and you can be damn sure that, if you’re in a small town, others are talking about your problems out of the public eye. But they are not going to offer help unless you ask for it.
Rule #4: Asking for help is a sign of social or moral weakness. You should be able to handle anything life throws at you, in true Puritan fashion. Life is hard, full of trials, and that’s just the way it’s supposed to be. It is simply unseemly to need help. Again, imminent harm is the exception. This seems to be in direct contravention of Rule #3, but there you have it. Corollary to both of these rules is “if you’re going to ask for help, you’d better damn well need it.” Don’t show weakness; people don’t want to see it in public. Just suck it up and figure it out.
Rule #5: Above all, practicality. At heart, Bostonians are ridiculously practical people. They don’t walk with their heads in the clouds. Unfortunately, this dour attitude often comes across as cynicism or pessimism. In reality, it’s more like prepare for the worst and don’t dare hope for the best. That way, you can be pleasantly surprised when something comes out right. So when someone puts down your idea, don’t take it personally. It’s just that pesky realism.
Rule #6: Get a Nav System and Don’t Trust Directions. Yeah, this is unrelated to any of the above, but it’s an important one, unless you grew up here. The directions you get from any true resident of the Northeast will NOT get you where you’re going. The landmarks they will give you are ones that existed years ago, not those that exist now. And the names of roads (yes, even the ones with numbers) might just be different. (“Old Rt. 1″ isn’t just a cute term…) We’re not trying to be jerks and get you lost on purpose. It’s just the way we give directions here.
Remember these six rules because they will make your life easier if you’re new here, but take them with a grain of salt, too. There will always be people who suck, no matter where you are. There are also people who move to Boston, get told that everyone is rude, and then proceed to act rudely believing that they have been given license to. They are the exceptions rather than the rule. If you adopt the Boston point of view, you’ll see the behaviors very differently. Politeness is in the eye of the beholder.
Aug 16
AndrewTravel Boston to New York, I-84, I-95, Travel
New York City has always been a striking city, but in my many visits here, I have never thought of it as beautiful. But last night, I got a glimpse of what sits in the hearts of New Yorkers that rests their souls amid the swirl of chaos and the press of people that defines day to day life here.
Yesterday’s drive down to New York City was surreal, and if it set the tone for this long weekend, so much the better. Traffic was decent; there were slowdowns at the two predictable spots. Getting on to I-84 at Sturbridge, the traffic piled up seemingly based on funneling the weekend traffic through the Mass Turnpike toll booth. Because Massachusetts residents are notoriously stubborn about owning a Fast Lane, the queue to pay by cash clogged and backed up traffic about 4 miles down the pike.
It’s amazing that one single barrier could cause that much back-up, but the design of the toll booths, with the two Fast Lane lanes in the middle meant that anyone who wanted to speed past the cash-payers had to weave through a jumble of cars themselves trying to narrow and merge down into two cash toll lanes. We managed to escape the morass by heading off to the far right where a lone Fast Lane lane patiently waited.
By simply keep the Fast Lanes to either side, at least some of the cross-congestion at the exit would free itself up because all the cash payers could just pile to the middle of the toll area. But what do I know?
The delay started before the Charlton service center, forcing industrious families off the road for lunch. The place was a madhouse.
The second delay was predictable, though even that had an unexpected cause. The interchange at I-91 and I-95 in New Haven is always a shitshow. At the onramp for I-95, a pair of police cruisers had were along the side of the road with a sedan and a van. It was hard to tell if it had been a collision or just a pull over but coming from I-91, all lanes of southbound traffic end up merging at the one spot, which was now made substantially slower because drivers were essentially navigating a police stop too.
As we crossed into New York, the first big drops of rain hit the windshield and in the far off sky, we saw brilliant bolts of lightning shatter through the gray clouds. The rain started to fall fast and furious. The sky darkened to a film of black, the wind whipped around the water and the streets begin to roil furiously with water that couldn’t get out of our way fast enough. Traffic dipped down to a crawl, visibility was about two car lengths. Drivers turned on their hazards, some more tentative drivers pulled over to the side of the road. Since the storm was heading northeast, though, they essentially were parking at its front with the entire tail still to come while the rest of us were forging towards the storm’s break.
Then came peanut-sized hail. It started to batter the car and talk became useless. The weather warnings were for a tornado watch, high winds, flash floods and a lightning storm.
We drove as such, about 10 mph, the entire stretch from the New York City border to our exit at the 278 interchange, at which point, it lightened up enough to at least turn off our hazards and speed up to a more reasonable highway speed. About 20 miles.
By now, our quick 3-hour drive was shot to hell. We made it to Long Island City, at a 30-story condo complex near the Citylights Building. The Pepsi Cola sign sits along the water just outside. The view across the East River is a stunning panorama of Manhattan. Somewhere in the distance is the Empire State Building.
Friends invited us to Brooklyn for a Vegan raw restaurant (there are so many things wrong with that sentence, I don’t know where to begin) but something special happened to me on the drive. Staring in awe at the views speeding past our window, I got a glimpse into the city’s soul. I’ve never seen it before, just the idea that there is this awesome engine of life chugging inside the city’s chore. Granted, masked by what we see on the surface, most of it unpretty, unfriendly, unrelenting and what had always been to me uninviting.
I won’t say I’m a complete convert. I’m still an LA boy at heart and it’s hard to realign my allegiance just based on night, but it was strange feeling in my stomach that for once left me feeling joyous instead of tentative about New York.
Jul 09
JeremyBusiness, Travel Glenwood Springs, Hotel Business, Hotel Colorado, Sarcasm, Travel
Last weekend, I went to a family wedding in Colorado. The wedding party and many of the guests all stayed in the same hotel. By the end of the weekend, we came to the collective conclusion that the hotel was doing its best to drive customers away. It was the only logical conclusion based on the experience we had. For the convenience of other hotels that may be contemplating similar actions, I have compiled a list of what to do here:
- Lull your guests into a false sense of security upon arrival by presenting an impressive exterior facade and grand lobby
- Hire a staff that treats your guests rudely, especially if the guest is the bride of a wedding party
- Ensure that all service, from the front desk to the coffee shop, is as slow as it can possibly be
- Close your hotel bar at 10:00 p.m. on Friday and Saturday nights
- Make sure that none of your drinks vending machines actually have any drinks in them
- Ensure that bathrooms are cramped and inconvenient in design with no ventilation
- Do not have enough fans on hand for each room, since you don’t have air conditioning in 90 degree weather
- Do not provide standard hotel amenities, such as irons in every room, and be sure that each guest must request such items at least three times before receiving them
- Offer poor quality and high prices in your dining room
- Make sure that relief a guest feels upon checking out is the only pleasant part of the stay
By following these ten easy steps, you too can be an unsuccessful hotelier!
This list is sponsored by the Hotel Colorado.*
* SmartReMarxcom has no affiliation with the Hotel Colorado. Any suggestion of a relationship here is purely sarcastic and not meant to imply that the Hotel Colorado endorses this article. The author, in turn, agrees not to endorse the Hotel Colorado.
Jun 29
AndrewHumor, Travel Kittery, Maine, Ogunquit, Travel
Escape Velocity the minimum speed at which an object must travel to escape a planet’s or moon’s gravitational field in order to orbit around it or move off into space. Encarta
Stepmother: When going to hide, know how to get there.
Cinderella’s Father: And how to get back..
Florinda, Lucinda: And eat first..
Into the Woods
I woke up late, rushed a shower, no time to brew the coffee, quickly smeared sunscreen on my nose and ears, grabbed the rental car keys, the house keys, a bottle of water (lemon-lime!) and raced out the door. Today, I was playing hooky from work to go up to Ogunquit, Maine for a day of sweltering oppressive humidity, seaside views and Sally Struthers.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I knew better than to rush out of the house without eating. Poor sleep and no food and long drive are a bad combination for anybody, but doubly so for someone who has a reputation for being cranky to begin with. So I stuffed a chocolate croissant down my throat without bothering to chew, a leftover from a trip to Panera, and washed it down with a gulp of cold water (lemon-lime!) I cranked up the CD player in the car and drove cross town to pick up my mother from the hotel.
Most of New England was experiencing the first heat wave of the summer, with temperatures middling in the 90s jacked up by 70% humidity (Waltham actually reached its record high temperature for today) though it was only in the low 80s when we left. It seemed liked a good day to escape, figuring likely as not there might be an ocean breeze and long periods of rental car air conditioning to keep us cool. There’s something inherently joyful about leaving behind the radius of your everyday life, work, home, grocery in the perpetual rotary that defines our day-to-day existence. It’s the promise of new experiences, encountering alien cultures (I’m talking to you, Kittery) and endless string of chotchskys stores to distract you with pretty colors.
For some of us, okay, admittedly it was me, breakfast was fast heading for a state of emergency, but we soldiered on, determined to get out of Massachusetts at least. Most of the drive there and back is highway with little in the way of scenic view.
Our first stop was Portsmouth, New Hampshire. After a quick consultation, we decided to drive to downtown Portsmouth for breakfast. Portsmouth sits on the Piscataqua River which runs between New Hampshire and Maine. The downtown is a criss cross of streets with cute cafés and uselessly entertaining shops. Even though it is oceanfront property, the air was thick as soup and there was no breeze. We ate at The Works on Congress Street. The menu had some variety, the coffee had some kick and the bathrooms were clean. The guy who made my sandwich was a dead ringer for Jimmy Fallon’s first cousin. He made a great Dagwood sandwich, and after a few bites and sip of hazelnut coffee, and I was feeling human again. We walked around, checking out some of the crafts stores, and walking down to the pier, and then piled back into the car.
On to Kittery, Maine, by way of route 1. Kittery is a naval town, home of the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, but its claim to fame for tourists is the Kittery Outlets. The outlet shops run along the main drag on either side of the street. We only made one stop, at the Kittery Trading Post. It’s an outdoor emporium the size of a mall. Top floor is guns and skis, main floor clothing and Maine-themed souvenirs featuring lobsters, bears and moose, oh my! Never went downstairs to the bottom level, but I was more than satiated with my need for outdoor adventure shopping. They even had a robust selection of items for the RV (or RV-inspired) kitchen.
It was so big, that I cannot even do to justice the scale of the place, easy to get lost and never be seen again. I’m pretty sure they do survival training right in the store by sending you off in Man-vs.Wild style with only the clothes on your back and your camera crew into the selection of 3-D animal targets, to be found later just your skeleton and ragged clothing remains among the tandem kayaks, your jaw bone swung open as if you made one last call for help before expiring.
Finally, we drove the last stretch of 7 miles into the tiny seaside town of Ogunquit, Maine. We barely made it across town lines when we saw a huge marquee for the Ogunquit Playhouse. They had a matinée performance of The Full Monty with special guest Sally Struthers. We hit the brakes immediately, pulled into the parking lot and sent a scout to the Box Office to assess tickets for the 2:30 performance. Success!
Inside the playhouse, the temperature was 100 degrees. The matinée brought out the over 70 crowd. Though the theater itself was well air conditioned, the lobby was like a steam bath, with old ladies fanning themselves, perilously close to losing that last drop of moisture that keeps their skin from cracking like baked sourdough bread left in the oven too long. It was a full twenty minutes before the doors to the auditorium opened, with no relief outside, and less so in the lobby.
But actually, the performance was worth it. The Full Monty is a poorly written musical, but the cast did a good job with it, keeping it light despite some pretty heavy themes. The movie does a better job of telling the story, but maybe that doesn’t matter. The actor’s voices were strong, even with a shitty sound system, and it hit all the right notes of bawdy entertainment and Sally Struthers. Oh yes, her role of the piano-playing, wise-cracking Jeannette was a highlight. They gave her, or wrote in, all the juiciest lines and she delivered each with an enthusiastic punch.
And yet, leaving the theater, it was still 95 degrees, the air as thick as smoke as we drove down to Shore Road, adjacent to the water front. We opted to walk around the little downtown area to read the menus, found the local gay bar where two young strapping bucks sat on the porch and glared at us as we walked in, exalted in the coldest interior in Maine, and then left to triumphal glares of those two swaggering males who knew we didn’t belong there, and knew that we knew. Finally, drenched in sweat and dripping with perspiration, we settled for a nice, air conditioned restaurant called the Five-O that offered lobster and lamb and duck.
It was after eight p.m. before we felt our first breeze of the entire day. The temperature had cool by small degrees making it more tolerable to walk through some more kitsch shops. A lot of Ogunquit is a like a lot of other seaside towns, crafts stores and bakeries and t-shirts and book stores and restaurants. As we made our way home to Waltham, the lightning presaged the downpour which dried up before we made it through New Hampshire.
All in all, it was an exhausting but satisfying adventure. It’s easy to forget that there is a world to explore when you’re stuck in the grind of your daily life. It takes energy to break free from the routine, and even more to bear back down into it. And that’s why, at all times, you need to be well-fed.
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