At the Miami Book Fair yesterday someone asked me and the other members of my panel to name our favorite hotel in the world. (I said The Atlanta in Bangkok, and added that it is so exceptional it gets an entire chapter in my book.) If someone had asked us our favorite road, I would have said with the same lack of hesitation: the road north of Trenton that hugs the Delaware River.
There are two roads, actually: Route 32 on the Pennsylvania side and Route 29 on the New Jersey side. Two weeks ago I took the former to New Hope, where Farley's Bookstore still sits on the main street, and then crossed the steel truss bridge into Lambertville. Its rambling used book store had closed since my last visit, but the smaller, more boutique-like second-hand bookstore across the street was still in business. From there I headed north along the straight stretch of 29 where seemingly the only thing that changes are the leaves, a dazzle of orange, red, and yellow this time of year. Even when they're gone you don't mind, because then the river appears through the bare branches.
In Frenchtown I got a cup of split pea soup at the Bridge Cafe, then walked down to look at the bridge I spent three college summers doing maintenance on (along with those in Milford, Riegelsville, Phillipsburg, and Belvedere). I stopped into The Book Garden and talked to the owner, Dr. Robert Rando, who had enjoyed an illustrious career specializing in STDs. He showed me the book he had co-authored about the town, with an afterword by occasional resident Elizabeth Gilbert, and I bought it with the hope that he would order mine.
I crossed the bridge - still looking good after four decades out of my care - and headed up 32 until it merged into 611. In downtown Easton I parked outside the Quadrant Bookstore and Cafe, where I found a beautiful hardcover copy of the final volume of Patrick Leigh Fermor's masterful trilogy about his walk, in the 1930s, from the Hook of Holland to Constantinople: The Broken Road.
I went to bed last night with the sickening feeling that the Category 5 hurricane was not going to veer off, as predicted, but was coming right at us - all of us. Now I have a feeling that we should fly the flag at half mast.
I'm off on a little book tour. If you happen to be in New York City Monday the 14th, come see me at Otto's Shrunken Head. On the 17th I'll be in Philadelphia at the University of Pennsylvania bookstore. Will be back here on the 21st.
Of the two major candidates, one is eminently qualified to be president, due to her many years in government, and one is stupendously unqualified.
Also, one is a despicable human being. And - seemingly making this easy for you - it's not the one who is eminently qualified.
One of the tips I gave my travel writing students at the conference this weekend was to talk to everybody - you never know who is going to give you that coruscating quote - and read everything. As an example, I mentioned that I learned about the weekend Cracker Fest by reading the magazines in my hotel room. Festivals are always a good place to meet locals, so on Friday Hania and I drove to the Bait Box to meet some Sanibel crackers (even though the phrase seemed something of an oxymoron).
Walking towards the entrance, we heard bluegrass music coming from tents twinkly with lights.
"That will be $100," the woman at the ticket table said.
I laughed. "That's a joke, right?"
"No, it's $100 a person," she said, before explaining that it was a benefit to raise money for a worthy cause.
We passed, and went off in search of a cheaper meal elsewhere, though now more enlightened about the crackers of Sanibel.
The day Americans dismantle their fake cemeteries while Catholics around the world visit real ones.
Yesterday I put on my walking shoes, grey knee socks, khaki shorts, white button-down shirt, red-and-grey striped Rooster tie, off-white sport jacket, and straw pith helmet and drove up to Delray and the Murder on the Beach bookstore, which was holding its annual Halloween party.
"I love your costume," one woman said to me inside the store.
"Clearly," I said, "you've never seen a travel writer in full dress uniform before."