Take More Trips!
I had what could only be described as a bizarre week and weekend that was highlighted by a few leisurely road trips. Firstly, I welcomed two guests into my home this week who came from Beloit to take an east-coast road trip which brought them to Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, by way of a few graduate schools and friends'/relatives' apartments. When they got to Brooklyn, discussion began on the next road trip, which was going to depart Friday to get to Boston. I took advantage of the last leg of their road trip by planning my own road trip to coincide, offering me a free ride.
As they were planning to go to Boston, I made plans to go to Boston as well, from where I would catch the Concord Trailways bus to Manchester, New Hampshire, to spend some time with a few close friends of mine. The departure from Brooklyn was delayed already in the fact that I had to work from 6:00 in the morning until 10:15 in the morning. An early start was not really a possibility, but leaving at around 11:30am or noon shouldn't have been much of a problem either. What we didn't account for is that when it starts to rain apparently nobody in Connecticut or Massachusetts knows how to drive, and we fought through six hours of traffic to get to Needham, Massachusetts, which wasn't even the final destination!
My trip just kept getting more and more delayed, and I had to further take the commuter train from this Boston suburb, into Boston's South Station, where I was to catch the bus, departing shortly after my arrival in order to get to Manchester by not too late in the evening. It seems like all my recent trips end up coming down to something like this. The plans all get shot very quickly, and I am left to improvise with whatever knowledge or tools I have on me to get to where I need to go.
This couldn't have happened without the use of cell phones or the internet, both of which were key components in my getting anywhere and communicating with the people I needed to who were waiting for me. From Needham, I was able to nab the 7:19pm scheduled commuter train into South Station, which would have arrived at 7:58pm, giving me ample time to walk the length of the platform, climb the stairs at the bus terminal and make it to the gate for the 8:15pm departure time, where my friend was waiting for me with a ticket.
Of course, as was proven already today, nothing was on time, and the rain, for some reason complicates things in New England. Well, the train was ten minutes late, and to my dismay, I entertained myself by reading about the Boston Red Sox' success in Game 5 over the Cleveland Indians while I waited for the train to come crawling down the tracks as the rain came down overhead. The amber lights of Needham Center station lit up my newspaper, giving me enough light to see how hard the rain was starting to come down, and the piano and drum banging in my earphones from Radiohead's latest curbed my frustrations from taking my mind to the brink of insanity.
When the train finally came, I got on knowing full well what this trip still held in store for me, before I would be able to say I was going to arrive safely and "as planned" at my destination. I nervously anticipated my arrival at South Station and busily text messaged my friend who was waiting for me at the bus gate, hoping not to miss yet another bus, after missing the three we had previously planned to ride on together.
My book bag was filled to the brim with clothes, toiletries, reading material, and other sundries, and probably weighed a good 30-40 lbs. I had no choice but to strap it on my back and, when the train came to a complete stop, venture out onto the rainy platform beginning my dead sprint down and around the platform, dodging commuters to get inside the bus terminal. In the bus terminal, I ran to the escalator, caught my breath for a few seconds, then ran to the next escalator, nearly toppling over a traveler and his giant suitcase. I am not in as good of shape as I thought I was, probably due to my recent increase in consumption of Starbucks beverages.
I made it to the bus, eventually making it to New Hampshire, where I had a very good weekend. I was able to meet some new people, rekindle some old friendships, and take part in the lore of twentysomething Manchester, New Hampshire culture, which includes a lot of worship of the local professional sports franchises New England Patriots and Boston Red Sox, watching funny things on TV, and drinking beer.
Once there, I had a very good weekend.
The trip there and back was a doozy, though. It seems like lately, I'm not allowed to have a trip that goes according to plan, takes an average amount of time, or that isn't filled with compounding frustrations. I always learn something on these trips, though, and end up being more fulfilled than I thought I would have been.
The way back was not as tricky, and it did not take as long as it did getting there, but it was very frustrating and, in turn, very entertaining. The Manchester bus to Boston was pleasant enough. It was a Sunday afternoon, there were not so many people going down to Boston then. I rode with my friend who was returning home to Boston. Once we got there, though, I had to ride the Chinese bus from Boston to New York.
If you are not familiar with the concept, New York's Chinatown is a hub for several Chinese-owned and -operated bus companies that travel between New York and Boston, New York and Philadelphia, New York and Baltimore, New York and Washington, D.C. They've got the Eastern seaboard pretty much covered. The Chinese bus companies operate routes that are very frequent (they typically leave every hour or two) and also very cheap (one way to Boston is $15). A person in my financial straits cannot find a better deal, and the Chinese have a corner on the marketplace.
The risk you take when you get on the Chinese bus, however, are all those you don't get when you pay for a premium ride. Although the bus looks safe and clean enough from the outside, there are no guarantees. A rider does not sign anything; he or she just pays the money and gets on. It's a very simple procedure. The risks are there, though. I have heard a number of horror stories regarding the Chinese bus, and they do not seem to be so far-fetched.
As far as the cleanliness of the buses is concerned, it is pretty hit or miss. After they have your money, their only concern really is getting to the destination to empty the bus and pick up more passengers going the other way. The driver most likely does not speak English, and he most likely will not make any announcements over the bus P.A. His job is just to drive.
The bus lavatory I doubt is ever cleaned. I refuse to go in there except in the case of an emergency and it is imperative to get to the bus ahead of time so as not to be forced to sit anywhere near it, as the fumes escape every time a bus rider sneaks back to use it.
Chinatown is sketchy enough in itself. It is the only place in New York that smells like a farm. That makes me very uncomfortable, since there are no pastures in sight. Who knows what goes on beyond closed doors? The fact that the Chinese have boosted their own self-worth and economic welfare by running a series of sketchy bus routes up and down the east coast does not make it any more comforting. There has to be a reason why it is so cheap, doesn't there? Isn't that the thing we've been wondering about everything Chinese since the U.S. started outsourcing everything there and people started consuming mystery meat in their exquisite Chinese delicacies?
Nevertheless, if it tastes like chicken, I'll most likely still eat it, and vice-versa, if the bus gets me to Boston and back for less than any other bus company that has to take the same route, why not? There is a chance we'll get to stop at a Chinese buffet restaurant in northern Connecticut on the way!
I boarded the New York-bound bus at Boston's South Station and not wanting to sit my 30-40 lb. book bag on my lap the whole trip, I snagged two seats and let my book bag sit on the one adjacent to me. That did not last long, though. As we started to pull away, the bus was suddenly stopped and three more people were let on board, leaving them to take up the last three remaining seats, including the one cradling my full and heavy book bag. Some people shifted around and who ended up sitting next to me was a Chinese woman traveling with her friend who ended up being the bane of my existence on this trip home.
The woman obviously had no sense of personal space for strangers and this became more evident as the trip prolonged. She nudged my arm and turned around to talk to her friend behind her as the bus got moving. Thankfully, they spoke in Chinese (which dialect I'm not about to guess) so I was able to ignore their conversation to some degree and block it out as white noise. But they kept passing back and forth and sharing with each other Chinese candy, which does not have the most pleasant odor, and as they kept up with their conversation, and the lady next to me continuing to turn around to talk, I was able to get a whiff of each definitive flavor.
The woman next to me did get up to use the bathroom several times, so I was able to stuff my book bag under my seat, which had been sitting on my legs for the initial 45 minutes of the trip. Shortly after leaving Boston, the bus hit traffic on the Massachusetts Turnpike and slowed down to a crawl, waking me up from my pleasant nap. Then, all of a sudden, the bus turned off the highway into a rest area that included a gas station and several convenient stores and fast-food restaurants. The bus parked at the gas station. I thought to myself it was too soon to stop for a break, which they sometimes do about halfway through the trip. I waited for an announcement, but heard none. Instead, the bus driver got up and exited the bus, leaving us all there to wonder in awe and suspect what the delay was all about. There wasn't much I could do except sit there and wonder myself. I wasn't going to get home any sooner by bailing from the bus and trying to find an alternative way home, though, I would have liked it if the bus driver had let us know he was going to be gone for twenty minutes, as it would have given me ample time to get something to eat.
He didn't, though, and twenty minutes later, he got back on the bus, and drove the bus back onto the road, leaving all of us behind him with our hands up and shoulders shrugging and question marks above our heads.
The climax of this story, as one might expect, comes at the end, when the Chinese woman broke the boundaries of personal space to an unprecedented extreme. It entered my mind that a discussion I was having earlier that day would foreshadow the events of the evening's ride home. The conversation was regarding the difference between "off sides" and "encroachment", two penalties in football in which the defensive team breaches the line of scrimmage before the offensive team is able to begin the play. Both penalties are seemingly the same, yet each carries a different name, yielding them to be just slightly different, and one having a more severe punishment than the other. In my case, both penalties occurred unsolicited from this Chinese woman sitting next to me. As I was sitting, minding my own business with my iPod and trying to sleep, I also made it a point, as I usually do, not to interfere with her personal space. I always use the space above me and to my left to take off my sweatshirt, stretch, or shift my body in some way to get more comfortable. This woman did not seem to realize this, and had it been a football game, flags would have been flying everywhere!
She never stopped bumping her arm and elbow into my arm, ribs, and shoulder. Though she never caused me any pain or physical discomfort, she was definitely over the line. She was just a little off sides every time. It was consistent. And just as it would be to the defensive coordinator, it was annoying. Being the mild-mannered person that I am, I did not bring it up with her, and merely made an attempt to ignore her as much as I could and take haven in my own personal space.
She also did not stop talking on her cell phone the whole trip. Every five minutes she was making or taking a call. I'm not sure what football penalty that would equate to; unnecessary rudeness, I guess. The penalties only got worse as the night went on, and hit an unprecedented high point when, as I was reading a magazine under the light of the person in front of me, her hand came into my view as she tried to read a card with some kinds of phone numbers on it. This is terribly difficult to describe, because one would never expect anybody to do this in a social situation such as this unless the two parties involved knew each other. But we didn't, and she obviously had no idea that what she was doing might have been considered uncouth, or whatever that translates to in Chinese, and it made the situation INCREDIBLY AWKWARD AND WEIRD!
She literally shoved this card right in my view of what I was trying to read. It was unnecessarily deep into my personal space and in view of the light. She actually physically put her hand on my magazine, steadying her view of this phone number card, causing me to pause my reading and turn to her with what must have been a very confused look on my face. Encroachment! The woman obviously did not speak any English, as she motioned with her finger that she was trying to look at the card with her eye and could not make out what she was reading.
She made her phone call, and I was off the hook for now. What I had witnessed thus far had been truly unbelievable; however, the pinnacle of this insult was still to come!
She was on the phone yammering in Chinese for a good few minutes after that, and I took notice out the windows that we were getting close to New York. As we inched further and further along in the Bronx to get down to the lower end of Manhattan and Chinatown, the woman next to me did the most remarkable thing I've experienced on a trip like this. I was sitting quietly, comfortably anticipating our arrival when, out of the corner of my eye, I see this woman's hand come towards my face. In the grasp of her fingers was the earphone to her cell phone headset she had been using all night. She shoved the thing in my left ear (the one that was farthest away from her!), which was already occupied by my own headphones; so, she got it as close to me as she could. It was evident that my job now was to take off my headphones and listen to whatever was going on in this cell phone headset.
I looked at her in disgust and she just pointed to the headset, instructing me to listen to it. I didn't hear anything, and I told her that. Finally, a voice came through that asked me in typical Chinese-accented broken English, "How far? New York? How far?" Even though New York could be seen out the windows to our right, I was still thrust in this interpreter's position, and begrudgingly answered, "15 minutes".
Encroachment! Major encroachment! She was way over the line! Roughing the passer even! My answer ended up being pretty close, but it was still just a guess.
I have never been accosted by foreigners as much as I was on that bus ride, and as I eventually returned home safely and away from Chinatown, I am sure that it will serve as a truly memorable experience throughout the rest of my life. When these kinds of things happen to me, I, of course, wonder if they happen to other people just the same. If so, I would really like to hear about it. I also wonder it these things happen to me for the sake of my being able to tell the story later on, either for entertainment value, or to warn others of what fates could befall them in the world.
Whatever the reason may be, I learned on this trip a number of things. I learned the new Radiohead album is really good, which is not much of a surprise. I relearned how magnificent the fall colors are on the New England landscape while driving north through Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire. I learned how delicious pumpkin ale is when offered with a garnish of cinnamon, sugar, and nutmeg. Lastly, I learned that while on the road of life and in the pursuit of happiness there are going to be snags, but if you keep trying and do not give up, you can get there.
As they were planning to go to Boston, I made plans to go to Boston as well, from where I would catch the Concord Trailways bus to Manchester, New Hampshire, to spend some time with a few close friends of mine. The departure from Brooklyn was delayed already in the fact that I had to work from 6:00 in the morning until 10:15 in the morning. An early start was not really a possibility, but leaving at around 11:30am or noon shouldn't have been much of a problem either. What we didn't account for is that when it starts to rain apparently nobody in Connecticut or Massachusetts knows how to drive, and we fought through six hours of traffic to get to Needham, Massachusetts, which wasn't even the final destination!
My trip just kept getting more and more delayed, and I had to further take the commuter train from this Boston suburb, into Boston's South Station, where I was to catch the bus, departing shortly after my arrival in order to get to Manchester by not too late in the evening. It seems like all my recent trips end up coming down to something like this. The plans all get shot very quickly, and I am left to improvise with whatever knowledge or tools I have on me to get to where I need to go.
This couldn't have happened without the use of cell phones or the internet, both of which were key components in my getting anywhere and communicating with the people I needed to who were waiting for me. From Needham, I was able to nab the 7:19pm scheduled commuter train into South Station, which would have arrived at 7:58pm, giving me ample time to walk the length of the platform, climb the stairs at the bus terminal and make it to the gate for the 8:15pm departure time, where my friend was waiting for me with a ticket.
Of course, as was proven already today, nothing was on time, and the rain, for some reason complicates things in New England. Well, the train was ten minutes late, and to my dismay, I entertained myself by reading about the Boston Red Sox' success in Game 5 over the Cleveland Indians while I waited for the train to come crawling down the tracks as the rain came down overhead. The amber lights of Needham Center station lit up my newspaper, giving me enough light to see how hard the rain was starting to come down, and the piano and drum banging in my earphones from Radiohead's latest curbed my frustrations from taking my mind to the brink of insanity.
When the train finally came, I got on knowing full well what this trip still held in store for me, before I would be able to say I was going to arrive safely and "as planned" at my destination. I nervously anticipated my arrival at South Station and busily text messaged my friend who was waiting for me at the bus gate, hoping not to miss yet another bus, after missing the three we had previously planned to ride on together.
My book bag was filled to the brim with clothes, toiletries, reading material, and other sundries, and probably weighed a good 30-40 lbs. I had no choice but to strap it on my back and, when the train came to a complete stop, venture out onto the rainy platform beginning my dead sprint down and around the platform, dodging commuters to get inside the bus terminal. In the bus terminal, I ran to the escalator, caught my breath for a few seconds, then ran to the next escalator, nearly toppling over a traveler and his giant suitcase. I am not in as good of shape as I thought I was, probably due to my recent increase in consumption of Starbucks beverages.
I made it to the bus, eventually making it to New Hampshire, where I had a very good weekend. I was able to meet some new people, rekindle some old friendships, and take part in the lore of twentysomething Manchester, New Hampshire culture, which includes a lot of worship of the local professional sports franchises New England Patriots and Boston Red Sox, watching funny things on TV, and drinking beer.
Once there, I had a very good weekend.
The trip there and back was a doozy, though. It seems like lately, I'm not allowed to have a trip that goes according to plan, takes an average amount of time, or that isn't filled with compounding frustrations. I always learn something on these trips, though, and end up being more fulfilled than I thought I would have been.
The way back was not as tricky, and it did not take as long as it did getting there, but it was very frustrating and, in turn, very entertaining. The Manchester bus to Boston was pleasant enough. It was a Sunday afternoon, there were not so many people going down to Boston then. I rode with my friend who was returning home to Boston. Once we got there, though, I had to ride the Chinese bus from Boston to New York.
If you are not familiar with the concept, New York's Chinatown is a hub for several Chinese-owned and -operated bus companies that travel between New York and Boston, New York and Philadelphia, New York and Baltimore, New York and Washington, D.C. They've got the Eastern seaboard pretty much covered. The Chinese bus companies operate routes that are very frequent (they typically leave every hour or two) and also very cheap (one way to Boston is $15). A person in my financial straits cannot find a better deal, and the Chinese have a corner on the marketplace.
The risk you take when you get on the Chinese bus, however, are all those you don't get when you pay for a premium ride. Although the bus looks safe and clean enough from the outside, there are no guarantees. A rider does not sign anything; he or she just pays the money and gets on. It's a very simple procedure. The risks are there, though. I have heard a number of horror stories regarding the Chinese bus, and they do not seem to be so far-fetched.
As far as the cleanliness of the buses is concerned, it is pretty hit or miss. After they have your money, their only concern really is getting to the destination to empty the bus and pick up more passengers going the other way. The driver most likely does not speak English, and he most likely will not make any announcements over the bus P.A. His job is just to drive.
The bus lavatory I doubt is ever cleaned. I refuse to go in there except in the case of an emergency and it is imperative to get to the bus ahead of time so as not to be forced to sit anywhere near it, as the fumes escape every time a bus rider sneaks back to use it.
Chinatown is sketchy enough in itself. It is the only place in New York that smells like a farm. That makes me very uncomfortable, since there are no pastures in sight. Who knows what goes on beyond closed doors? The fact that the Chinese have boosted their own self-worth and economic welfare by running a series of sketchy bus routes up and down the east coast does not make it any more comforting. There has to be a reason why it is so cheap, doesn't there? Isn't that the thing we've been wondering about everything Chinese since the U.S. started outsourcing everything there and people started consuming mystery meat in their exquisite Chinese delicacies?
Nevertheless, if it tastes like chicken, I'll most likely still eat it, and vice-versa, if the bus gets me to Boston and back for less than any other bus company that has to take the same route, why not? There is a chance we'll get to stop at a Chinese buffet restaurant in northern Connecticut on the way!
I boarded the New York-bound bus at Boston's South Station and not wanting to sit my 30-40 lb. book bag on my lap the whole trip, I snagged two seats and let my book bag sit on the one adjacent to me. That did not last long, though. As we started to pull away, the bus was suddenly stopped and three more people were let on board, leaving them to take up the last three remaining seats, including the one cradling my full and heavy book bag. Some people shifted around and who ended up sitting next to me was a Chinese woman traveling with her friend who ended up being the bane of my existence on this trip home.
The woman obviously had no sense of personal space for strangers and this became more evident as the trip prolonged. She nudged my arm and turned around to talk to her friend behind her as the bus got moving. Thankfully, they spoke in Chinese (which dialect I'm not about to guess) so I was able to ignore their conversation to some degree and block it out as white noise. But they kept passing back and forth and sharing with each other Chinese candy, which does not have the most pleasant odor, and as they kept up with their conversation, and the lady next to me continuing to turn around to talk, I was able to get a whiff of each definitive flavor.
The woman next to me did get up to use the bathroom several times, so I was able to stuff my book bag under my seat, which had been sitting on my legs for the initial 45 minutes of the trip. Shortly after leaving Boston, the bus hit traffic on the Massachusetts Turnpike and slowed down to a crawl, waking me up from my pleasant nap. Then, all of a sudden, the bus turned off the highway into a rest area that included a gas station and several convenient stores and fast-food restaurants. The bus parked at the gas station. I thought to myself it was too soon to stop for a break, which they sometimes do about halfway through the trip. I waited for an announcement, but heard none. Instead, the bus driver got up and exited the bus, leaving us all there to wonder in awe and suspect what the delay was all about. There wasn't much I could do except sit there and wonder myself. I wasn't going to get home any sooner by bailing from the bus and trying to find an alternative way home, though, I would have liked it if the bus driver had let us know he was going to be gone for twenty minutes, as it would have given me ample time to get something to eat.
He didn't, though, and twenty minutes later, he got back on the bus, and drove the bus back onto the road, leaving all of us behind him with our hands up and shoulders shrugging and question marks above our heads.
The climax of this story, as one might expect, comes at the end, when the Chinese woman broke the boundaries of personal space to an unprecedented extreme. It entered my mind that a discussion I was having earlier that day would foreshadow the events of the evening's ride home. The conversation was regarding the difference between "off sides" and "encroachment", two penalties in football in which the defensive team breaches the line of scrimmage before the offensive team is able to begin the play. Both penalties are seemingly the same, yet each carries a different name, yielding them to be just slightly different, and one having a more severe punishment than the other. In my case, both penalties occurred unsolicited from this Chinese woman sitting next to me. As I was sitting, minding my own business with my iPod and trying to sleep, I also made it a point, as I usually do, not to interfere with her personal space. I always use the space above me and to my left to take off my sweatshirt, stretch, or shift my body in some way to get more comfortable. This woman did not seem to realize this, and had it been a football game, flags would have been flying everywhere!
She never stopped bumping her arm and elbow into my arm, ribs, and shoulder. Though she never caused me any pain or physical discomfort, she was definitely over the line. She was just a little off sides every time. It was consistent. And just as it would be to the defensive coordinator, it was annoying. Being the mild-mannered person that I am, I did not bring it up with her, and merely made an attempt to ignore her as much as I could and take haven in my own personal space.
She also did not stop talking on her cell phone the whole trip. Every five minutes she was making or taking a call. I'm not sure what football penalty that would equate to; unnecessary rudeness, I guess. The penalties only got worse as the night went on, and hit an unprecedented high point when, as I was reading a magazine under the light of the person in front of me, her hand came into my view as she tried to read a card with some kinds of phone numbers on it. This is terribly difficult to describe, because one would never expect anybody to do this in a social situation such as this unless the two parties involved knew each other. But we didn't, and she obviously had no idea that what she was doing might have been considered uncouth, or whatever that translates to in Chinese, and it made the situation INCREDIBLY AWKWARD AND WEIRD!
She literally shoved this card right in my view of what I was trying to read. It was unnecessarily deep into my personal space and in view of the light. She actually physically put her hand on my magazine, steadying her view of this phone number card, causing me to pause my reading and turn to her with what must have been a very confused look on my face. Encroachment! The woman obviously did not speak any English, as she motioned with her finger that she was trying to look at the card with her eye and could not make out what she was reading.
She made her phone call, and I was off the hook for now. What I had witnessed thus far had been truly unbelievable; however, the pinnacle of this insult was still to come!
She was on the phone yammering in Chinese for a good few minutes after that, and I took notice out the windows that we were getting close to New York. As we inched further and further along in the Bronx to get down to the lower end of Manhattan and Chinatown, the woman next to me did the most remarkable thing I've experienced on a trip like this. I was sitting quietly, comfortably anticipating our arrival when, out of the corner of my eye, I see this woman's hand come towards my face. In the grasp of her fingers was the earphone to her cell phone headset she had been using all night. She shoved the thing in my left ear (the one that was farthest away from her!), which was already occupied by my own headphones; so, she got it as close to me as she could. It was evident that my job now was to take off my headphones and listen to whatever was going on in this cell phone headset.
I looked at her in disgust and she just pointed to the headset, instructing me to listen to it. I didn't hear anything, and I told her that. Finally, a voice came through that asked me in typical Chinese-accented broken English, "How far? New York? How far?" Even though New York could be seen out the windows to our right, I was still thrust in this interpreter's position, and begrudgingly answered, "15 minutes".
Encroachment! Major encroachment! She was way over the line! Roughing the passer even! My answer ended up being pretty close, but it was still just a guess.
I have never been accosted by foreigners as much as I was on that bus ride, and as I eventually returned home safely and away from Chinatown, I am sure that it will serve as a truly memorable experience throughout the rest of my life. When these kinds of things happen to me, I, of course, wonder if they happen to other people just the same. If so, I would really like to hear about it. I also wonder it these things happen to me for the sake of my being able to tell the story later on, either for entertainment value, or to warn others of what fates could befall them in the world.
Whatever the reason may be, I learned on this trip a number of things. I learned the new Radiohead album is really good, which is not much of a surprise. I relearned how magnificent the fall colors are on the New England landscape while driving north through Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire. I learned how delicious pumpkin ale is when offered with a garnish of cinnamon, sugar, and nutmeg. Lastly, I learned that while on the road of life and in the pursuit of happiness there are going to be snags, but if you keep trying and do not give up, you can get there.
posted by Leland J. Fischer at 2:09 PM
<< Home