In which Layla and Roz bid a tearful farewell to their adopted home country

By Layla

We had a quick Chipotle dinner on Saturday evening before heading back to the cinema, this time to see the new Woody Allen film Irrational Man, which was surprisingly good. We finished the evening with wine and sticky toffee pudding at fancy restaurant The Kitchen. Delicious.

For our final day in Boulder we'd planned a day trip to a nearby town called Nederland but I got cold feet about the logistics so we ended up doing a small hike from a nearby trailhead instead. It is astounding how many trails there are in a 5-mile radius from our little home in Boulder! I had given Roz my cold and she was feeling less than sprightly so after our walk, we esconsced ourselves in a series of lovely cafes to read our books, eat lunch, indulge in specialty chocolates, sip coffee, and gorge on zucchini bread. I made a side-trip to beautiful Boulder Library to print our tickets for the Queen Mary 2. And we retired to our 'shed' to pack and primp. An excellent way to spend the afternoon.

That evening we had a reservation at the famed vegetarian restaurant Leaf. En route we passed the finish line of the Iron Man contest that had dominated the thoughts and plans of Boulder since our arrival. The clock read 12 and a half hours and we watched contestants run/limp/stumble across the finish line to the sound of the announcer: "Bob, you are now an IronMan!" Roz and I mused on how we'd like someone to say that about us, but on reflection it was never going to happen. We retired to Leaf and had a delicious meal with some excellent cocktails... Then we ditched the vegan, gluten-free desserts for an enormous Eton Mess back at The Kitchen. I'm ashamed to say I ate so much I felt sick!

We were up unpleasantly early the next day for, oh miracle, an on-time flight (which ironically we nearly missed due to appalling security lines at Denver). And then, oh delight, New York City. We are staying in the Park Slope/Gowanus area of Brooklyn for three reasons: value, proximity to Queen Mary 2, and proximity to The Moth story slam. After years of fruitlessly putting my name in the hat and never, ever being chosen in New York, I was convinced that on my last night in America, the fates would smile upon me. After all, this month's theme was 'destiny'.

But first to Wholefoods to buy water, prosecco and snacks for our Queen Mary cabin, a trick we'd read about online to circumnavigate the costly drinks onboard. Then a beautiful stroll around Park Slope with gelato. Then Jenga and Connect 4, food and wine at a cool little restaurant. And finally, a stroll over to the Bell House for the grand moment of truth: The Moth. 400 people were crammed in for the sold-out show. I put my name in the bag to tell a story. And then Roz and I sat in a whirl of nervous anticipation as each name was chosen in turn. The show was fantastic with some outstanding stories... But was I going to be called? Nope. Our disappointment was hard to suppress. At the end of the show they always have the unselected people get in stage and say the first line of their story. I got up and said 'When I moved to America four years ago I thought it was my destiny to perform at a New York Moth story slam, but every time I came to a show I put my name in the hat and never, ever got chosen - so on my last night in America tonight, I must conclude it wasn't my destiny after all." At which point the whole audience collectively went 'awwww', and shouted as one that I MUST be allowed to perform. And so I was. I wasn't in the official competition, but it was still a fab and fitting end to our time in America. We celebrated afterwards with prosecco and bruschetta at a nearby bar, but our delight was muted by the fact that this was our very last night as people who live in the US. It feels like home here now. We have a strange and exciting year ahead of us, living in London, then Tokyo, but it's hard to say goodbye to our life here.

At Roz's speech at her work's goodbye reception a few weeks ago, she quoted from 'The Book of Unknown Americans' (great novel) where, upon leaving the US, a character says 'I will tell them of the ways I have loved this country.' As we prepare for our final New York morning, I will borrow from the other quote Roz used, from Great Expectations (which in fact I'm reading right now) to summarize my experience of living here: 'what larks.'

This morning we headed into Manhattan to say farewell to some of our most beloved NYC haunts. First a stroll the full length of the Highline Park, including a delightful stop to join in the construction of a white Lego city. Roz got so absorbed with constructing an elaborate gate that I had to drag her away. We stopped at Blue Bottle Coffee, then walked along Hudson and Bleeker Street to the Cornelia Street Cafe, where we have spent numerous happy times with wine flights and moroccan hummus and watching storytelling. We had a delicious lunch that mirrored our first visit there, on our honeymoon many years ago when we first got the idea to move to America. And now it's time to say goodbye in slow, dramatic style as we prepare to sail past the Statue of Liberty to begin our 7-day Queen Mary 2 voyage from New York to Southampton, and the next chapter.   

In which Roz and Layla wear out their legs and flee bear rumours on the hills of Boulder

by Roz
 

Though our plane was delayed and we didn’t get into Boulder until late lunchtime-ish, we had a fairly useful / practical time of identifying furniture and such for our new flat.  And reading The Crimson Petal and the White (in my case) and learning Japanese characters (in Layla’s case – she’s more virtuous than me).  Our new home for the next five days proved to be a slightly scary but very well equipped shed in the garden of a very fancy house on one of the loveliest streets in Boulder (though disappointingly at the top of a hill).  All in all, we were relatively content - we’d really struggled to find somewhere good to stay at a decent price because it’s the Iron Man competition in Boulder this weekend which is bringing thousands of people to the area (rather them than me!) and although a shed isn’t optimal, at least it’s quite a nice one… (note by Layla who booked it: it’s a perfectly normal tiny studio apartment!)

Having kind of settled into our shed (studio! - L), we headed down the hill for soup at a hippy nearby café.  This was delicious, though we studiously avoided “asking more” about their particular brand of spiritualism, as the menu suggested … We then pottered down the Pearl, the road which is Boulder’s downtown, dodging talentless violinists and rather skilled circus performers before collapsing in a pretty park next to a farmer’s market by the river.  It was very lovely to read our books but guilt / parsimony was calling – I’d heard that the Contemporary Art Museum is free on market days and it seemed a shame to miss out.  So we popped in, and enjoyed some of what we saw, including some rather pleasing map pieces.  This done, we went back to the park and alternately enjoyed reading our books and watching some people practising acro-yoga (the latter was very cool, and I feel that I need to add this to my yoga repertoire).  Eventually, it was getting towards evening and so we pottered on to a cinema to see Paper Towns.  This proved to be not particularly good (I find myself much irritated by tales of nerdy children needing to turn cool) but the popcorn was nice and it was bang next door to a grocery store (which central Boulder seems too hippy to be enthusiastic about otherwise) and this handily resolved our dilemmas about food for breakfast and so forth over the next few days.  We then hopped on a bus back into the downtown and had a delightful cocktail in Salt before retiring to our shed. (note from Layla: studio apartment!)

We slept quite well and enjoyed having breakfast on our little patio next morning.  Our landlady came by to check on us, and Layla cleverly persuaded her to offer to let us use her washing machine (Boulder also seems too cool for laundrettes in the downtown area).  This ended up occupying more time than we expected but there was a nice breeze whilst we waited it out – and Layla demonstrated excessive virtue in using the additional time to sort out the cancellation of our phone contracts (or rather to begin the process of doing so).  We eventually headed out and tried to hire bikes.  Alas no success (the early bird had rented all the bikes at the nearby store).  We began heading to another store when we had the genius idea of hiring bikes from the Boulder bikeshare scheme.  This was exceptionally easy and soon we were heading towards the Boulder Creek path.  We had a very jolly time cycling along the creek with locals, surrounded by mountains and into Boulder Canyon.  And the way back was even jollier, since it proved more downhill than we’d anticipated and so we barely moved our legs. (I recognise that this isn’t everyone’s aspiration when cycling, but I liked it…)  We parked and – once Layla had taken another call about cancelling our phone contracts – headed to a delightful Tajikistan tearoom.  This sounds unlikely, but had been a gift from a town which Boulder is twinned with in Tajikistan and was beautiful.  Lunch matched the promise of the building.  We headed back to our shed after a little post-lunch pottering in a delightful bookstore feeling sated and cheery.  We spent the rest of the afternoon very delightfully on the patio with our books and then got an Uber to a faraway lake in the late afternoon to do a little paddleboarding on Boulder Reservoir.  This proved delightful. We Ubered home and I made dinner and then lay in our garden hammock with my book whilst Layla washed up.  Later that evening, we meandered down to a nearby venue for an open mic comedy night.  This was a combination of brilliant and hideous.  It was hideous because there were only three people in the audience (including me) who weren’t performing – and the performers weren’t terrific.  And it was brilliant because I talked Layla into signing up and doing a story. She was unsurprisingly the best performer of the night and I felt proud. 

Next morning, we woke up to the sound of an alarm clock.  We’d decided to make sure we were up and about early to avoid the midday heat. We more or less succeeded, and were in Eldorado State Park (known as Eldo by the locals) before 9.  We took a lovely trail called Rattlesnake Gulch uphill (well, lovely other than the uphill aspect of it) which gave us amazing views of the Rockies, the river, and took us to an overlook of the Continental Divide and past the ruins of a hotel which had been burned down in 1916 (we sniggered unkindly at less than 100 years being deemed worthy of archaeologists’ attention, but still enjoyed the vision of a glamorous hotel in the mountains with fountains and the like).  Suspicious of the chances of getting any phone signal to summon an Uber at the place we’d come from, Layla came up with an excellent hike which took us closer to town along a flat path through meadows. Sure enough, we hopped out on a deserted road, summoned an Uber and headed to Chautaqua Park, which everyone had mentioned to us as a must-see when we said we were coming to Boulder.  Our park experience started in a delightful dining room which had been built between the wars and which had a sense of glamour about it (and a tasty kale salad and apple cobbler).  After lunch, we sat in the park and I listened to an orchestra practising and read my book whilst Layla called her parents.  The orchestra was lovely and on a whim I persuaded Layla that we should go and find out whether they’d be performing that night, and the cost of the tickets.  We discovered that by buying tickets which would entail sitting on “historic” benches from the 1800s we could afford to go – and that it was the same orchestra I’d been enjoying that afternoon.  Pleased with our plan for the evening, we went for a tiny hike in the park (which ended more speedily than we planned, when a bear sighting ahead reminded us of our enthusiasm for not being eaten by a bear) before heading back into town.  We whiled away some time very pleasantly in another bookstore and coffeeshop, before heading home for dinner in the sunshine.  We headed out later on (relishing a free bus for concert-goers) and then settled down on the historic benches (which I thought were fine; Layla’s wriggling suggested she did not concur).  It was an interesting programme – Beethoven and Sibelius, but combined with projection of landscape photography from Colorado parks onto a giant screen above the orchestra.  I loved lots of the images and liked the idea of the combination – though I also found the images somewhat distracting from the music. But it was terrific to be there – it’s clearly a local institution and was a beautiful venue.  We finished the evening with a cocktail at a nearby bar and congratulated ourselves on another cheery day. 

We were up early again today, to beat the heat again.  This time, we were off to something called the Mesa Trail which takes you from the Eldo area all the way back through the hills and into Chautaqua park that we were in yesterday.  We feared it might be a bit too similar to yesterday but were also frightened off a number of the other options by the descriptions of their difficulty.  But we needn’t have worried.  The 7-mile hike took us along the foothills of the Flatirons (the mountains round the city) through meadows with lots of beautiful flowers with alas a little more uphill than would have been optimal (though the odd runner who passed us gave no hint of sharing this view).  About five miles in, we were conscious we were running short of water and decided to deviate to the National Center for Atmospheric Research (which is exactly what it sounds like, but is also a museum).  I’m ashamed to say that our first stop was the water fountain and our second stop the vending machine.  But we then enjoyed being taught about what makes a tornado and such like.  Back on the trail for the final 3 miles (NCAR added about a mile to our route) we enjoyed going downhill at last.  Conscious we weren’t far from the place where the bear had been sighted yesterday, we remembered our lessons from hiking in Canada and occasionally broke into song (which obviously scared off passers by, if not bears).  Back in Chautaqua park at last, my lobbying for a second kale salad was successful and we were back in the dining hall.  Layla went for the interesting option of biscuits and vegetarian gravy.  I felt – once I saw her option – that it was one of the few occasions where the salad eater could be smug that her food choice was not only more healthy but also more delicious…

Sore-footed we summoned an Uber to take us the short distance back to our shed for a shower and such like and are now happily ensconced in the bookstore / coffee shop near our home and Layla is sitting with her Japanese textbook as I type which seems an unlikely reward for so much exertion…

In which Roz and Layla explore otherworldly landscapes and drink sour beer in Santa Fe

by Layla

After dashing in a mad panic to make our tight connection to Santa Fe, our second plane was delayed and yet again we spent more time than desirable in an airport, but eventually we were off and before long driving through scrubby desert and distinctive abode buildings to our little downtown apartment. And then immediately to Fire and Hops, the bar that was to become our Santa Fe local. We indulged in ‘salt and vinegar potatoes’ and sour beers, before Roz marched me along the side of a motorway in the blazing sun to a supermarket to stock up our little house – it seems that when one is holidaying for 37 days, a bit of self catering is appropriate, alas.

Then, chores done, we walked over to the Georgia O’Keeffe museum. She lived near Santa Fe for many years and was partly responsible for igniting the huge artist community in the town. It was fun to see a lot of her work in one place – and even more fun to see jolly photos of her hopping on to motorbikes and the like. After museum-ing, we walked down to a Hispanic art market/show, and then to the Haagen Dazs shop… That evening we strolled around the cool Railyard area (and sampled another beer place), then went to a cool little arthouse cinema that’s owned by the Game of Thrones creator. We loved the idea that this guy created a venue to show whatever films he felt like, and bring sci fi authors to talk at. We saw Pixel which was fun and silly. And luckily missed the deluge of rain while doing so.

The next day we were picked up by Walkabouts tour company and driven into the countryside. Our destination: Tsankawe. The landscapes around Santa Fe are like nowhere I’ve ever seen before. Volcanic activity over the millennia have created these crazy red layered cliffs and caves presiding over the desert landscape. The area we were visiting was once home to a tribe, before the Spanish invasion, and our hike involved both admiring the amazing views and also looking at wall carvings, ruins of homes and ‘kivas’ (ceremonial holes in the ground), and the like. Very cool. On the way home we drove through Los Alamos, where I saw all the sights mentioned in Judy Blume’s Tiger Eyes and sadly didn’t get to go to the science museum  (since it was closed) which would have been very interesting, given Los Alamos is the site of the Manhattan Project. We drove home through a ‘pueblo’, ie a little village where the tribes from Tsankawe and other mountains moved due to drought, and now live. Afterwards we went for New Mexican food at a famous restaurant, El Pasquale Café, which was lovely, then walked to the also famous Canyon Road, a long road that is filled on either side with art galleries. It was really quite fun to see so many art galleries compressed into one area, and we popped into several and mused upon what we would buy if we were richer. That evening, after Roz cooked dinner for us on a wildly inadequate hot plate, it was off to the cinema again, this time to see Mr Holmes in a less charming but better air-conditioned multiplex. And then a sour beer.

Our final full day in Santa Fe and we had again engaged the services of Walkabouts. This time our destination was Tent Rocks. We didn’t really know what to expect but it wasn’t what we found. Tent Rocks has the feel of being a wonder of the world, and it is incredible that we had never even heard of this crazy geological site. Over the years, various volcanic eruptions and erosions have created these huge, layered, sort of upside down rounded conical structures. Walking through them, as we did, it felt like we had been shrunk and were wandering around the wares of a pottery shop. We squeezed through the little gaps between them, and then finally popped out and ascended up a small mountain from which we got to see the structures from above. It felt like a prehistoric person, or an alien, would greet us at every turn. A brilliant adventure. We spent the afternoon doing various chores and rewarded ourselves with particularly sour beers before delightfully meeting up with one of our DC friends, Amy, who happened to be in Santa Fe that day. She drove us over to her friends’ lovely house where we ate home-made guacamole and got a tour round an artist’s studio, then it was back into town for an excellent dinner at Maria’s.

This morning we woke up to good news and bad news. Good news: we have exchanged on our Brixton apartment! Bad news: our flight to Denver, which had necessitated an alarm clock setting of 5:45, was delayed by three hours! I write this from the tiny Santa Fe airport, feeling excited and scared about our apartment progress… and very much ready to be in our next destination, Boulder, Colorado.

In which Roz and Layla watch a play of their relationship and explore the wilds of Minneapolis

By Roz

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Next morning was our last full day in Bar Harbor, much to my consternation.  How can it be that 37 days of vacation can start to speed by already…?

We began the day by fulfilling a lifelong ambition of Layla’s: walking over a sand bar.  I didn’t know it was an ambition of hers when I read about a sand bar that connects Bar Harbor town proper with a tiny nearby island but I am happy to take credit where it isn’t due.  Layla yet again demonstrated her (lack of) skill in skimming stones and when we got to the island I demonstrated my (lack of) skill in following a hiking path.  It was all very lovely, though, with lots of cheery holiday-makers kicking around in a surprisingly non-annoying fashion. 

We headed back into town in more than enough time to avoid being caught by the tide and headed to a coffee shop to contemplate our plans for the day.  We mused on getting a boat to an island (argh, expensive) or on climbing Cadillac Mountain (argh, steep) before eventually settling on hiking up a smaller mountain.  We bought a couple of bagels to sustain us for lunch, and headed on to the ever-delightful free bus.  Our hike proved to be the perfect combination of relatively shady, not that uphill and beautifully scenic – with the delightful addition of a glacier lake in the middle. 

Back in town, we headed home only pausing for an ice cream (alas this was one of those occasions where we agreed to share, compromised on flavour and neither of us was entirely content).  And then, packing.  Revolting.  To console ourselves we headed out afterwards to dinner at a nice place which had once been a speakeasy called Gayln’s Galley where we had squash cakes (the vegetarian’s crab cake) and beets and such like.  We then went for one final meander along the shore path before heading over to Improv Acadia.  I’d lobbied to go again partly because I’d enjoyed it so much and partly because I’d been horrified that when they asked for a volunteer couple to describe the history of their romance (so the troupe could perform a version of it), Layla had felt she shouldn’t volunteer because – as a lesbian couple – we wouldn’t be family-friendly enough for the audience that was largely composed of children and their parents. Layla was repentant and annoyed at having given in to her own ridiculous prejudice, so was up for going again. The show was just as good second time around and we mused that they are probably the best improv troupe we’ve seen outside of Austin (where we saw the best improv show we’ve ever seen which rather spoiled us for all other shows!).  Sure enough, towards the end of the show, when the audience was asked for a volunteer who’d been in a relationship for more than two years, Layla was the first to have her hand up (amusingly she was so eager, she looked rather like a three year old volunteering to be the first to open a present or some such).  She was brought on to the stage and after some cheery banter and questions where Layla told the troupe – and audience – all about us, the troupe then performed a play of our romance.  And it was just brilliant.  And entirely family-friendly…

Next morning we were up early for our drive back to Bangor airport.  Same chatty and enthusiastic driver and in our hour-long drive we covered everything from politics to the merits (or otherwise in his view) of Uber.  It’s probably best to draw a veil over the rest of the journey to Minneapolis.  Suffice to say our second plane was cancelled, and so we spent an unfortunate amount of time at Philadelphia airport and my plans for Minneapolis fun that day went up in smoke.  Though it was cheery enough in some ways – we found a Vino Volo and passed a good amount of time playing Scrabble (though I lost), drinking sparkling wine and eating cheese.  We arrived at Minneapolis airport around 8.30pm and were surprised (and pleased) to find our luggage had made it there too.  The public transport nerd that exists in both Layla and me was delighted by the tram that took us cheaply and quickly to our hotel from the airport. 

Under normal circumstances we’d be thinking of bed by 10pm.  But driven by the imperatives of our step trackers and by the depressingness of having spent all day in and around airports and planes, we decided to head out for a cocktail in the warehouse district despite the late (for us) hour.  The bar – Marvel - was one of those speakeasies that you’d never find if you didn’t know it was there which I’d come across in my over-zealous holiday research.  Inside it was mismatched furniture and industrial chic and lots of locals (not a tourist in sight – a far cry from Bar Harbor), and the unpleasantness of the day melted away quickly.  Layla bravely went for a cocktail with olive oil and egg white in it (I’m still not convinced, but she insists it definitely tasted like dessert) whilst I went for something pleasant with gin and citrus.  We walked back to the hotel – going a different route, and quickly establishing that Hennepin Avenue (one of the main streets in Minneapolis) was definitely not a place for us (our skirts were too long and our heels too short) and collapsed into our very comfy bed. 

Next morning we went to a very pleasant place nearby for breakfast before heading over to the ‘chain’ of five lakes on the delightfully efficient local bus.  We’d heard about the walking/cycling/boating fun offered by these lakes from pretty much everyone we’d told we were going to Minneapolis (well everyone who hadn’t looked horrified at the prospect of going there at all) and so we hired bikes from a place near Lake Calhoun and set off.  The paths were for cyclists only (walkers have their own paths – so civilised) and it was delightful to spin along the shore in the sunshine.  After a while, we stopped to check our route and Layla broke the news to me that there was an email from our lawyer about our London flat-purchase.  This caused a reasonable amount of angst – not because the news was particularly bad, but because the whole process of buying a property is a tedious and stressful one in England (and if it doesn’t go through we are going to be homeless when we get back to the UK).  But, having dealt with the lawyer’s email, we continued on, around Harriet Lake and then bound for Cedar Lake, and all was going relatively well until I made the rash decision to change gears when going uphill.  This did not work out well and the bike chain ended up jammed somewhere it shouldn’t have been.  I tried to do my best butch work to fix the problem.  No success. Eventually we called the people who’d rented the bikes to us.  I was – in some ways – relieved when they came and also couldn’t fix the bike.  All the more so when the girl who’d come to fix it agreed to give me her bike so she could walk mine back to the shop…  Still we felt we’d had our bike-riding fix by this time, and so once we’d deposited the bikes, we went for lunch in a nearby spot and contemplated our flat-purchasing and lack of furniture.  And so it was that we found ourselves eating vegetarian tacos by the lake whilst Layla ordered a sofa to put in a home we don’t yet own…

After lunch we walked around the prettiest of the lakes, Lake of the Isles, towards Sebastian Joe’s, an ice cream spot that had been strongly recommended by a friend who’d grown up in Minneapolis.  The day was growing hotter, and so we pretty much collapsed when we got there– but not before we’d acquired an ice cream each (enough of the compromising and sharing!). We hung out there for a while with our books, before braving the sun again and walking over to the Walker Art Center. The art – a pop art exhibition and a retrospective focussed on the art that the gallery had acquired in its 75 years of existence – was quite good.  But our main interest was the artist-designed mini-golf.  This was exceptionally well designed –quite the hardest and most interesting mini-golf course I’ve done.  I lost.  It’s best to gloss over my feelings…  We walked back through Loring Park which was pretty – and with a walkway that seemed to be Minneapolis’ answer to the High Line Park in New York City - and dreamed of being indoors and in air con. 

Back in our hotel room we cooled down and showered and eventually our faces faded to more or less their usual hues.  We resolved that the following day we’d be more careful about being outdoors in the full blast of the sun (ha, didn’t manage to do that).  We eventually headed out to an early dinner at a place called the Bachelor Farmer which I’d booked for our first night and had to cancel in favour of the delights of Philadelphia airport. It’s one of the best restaurants in Minneapolis, and the food was interesting and delicious and included a popover (the favourite of Bar Harbor which I’ve never seen on a menu otherwise).  I’m not really a dessert person, but for the first time in memory regretted agreeing to sharing with Layla since the panacotta was amazing.  We then went to a comedy show.  I loved the venue for giving a free drink to anyone who had come on public transport – all the more so since I persuaded them that Layla and I were both deserving by proving we’d walked there by showing our step trackers.  The comedy was good (and a skit on Governor Scott and climate change had particular resonance given my recent visit to Tallahassee) but towards the end of the show Layla was fading with tiredness and so we made a speedy exit and went to bed. 

Next morning, I woke up with a racing heart wondering if there’d been an email response from our lawyer (who is of course in a different time zone from us). As did Layla. Disappointingly I only remembered it was Saturday after I’d woken up enough to look at my phone…  I went for a brief run whilst Layla was getting up and then we headed out for breakfast and then on to the tram to Minnehaha Park. The park is huge and delightful and has a little shady river path to walk along that takes you from a waterfall all the way to the Mississippi river.  We felt very cheery as we walked along this, passing and being passed by the odd local.  We then hiked back along the other side of the river, passed the Hiawatha statue and then on a longer walk along a creek to Hiawatha Lake.  It was beautiful and we felt unexpectedly local as we debated the merits of the different houses we passed.  Eventually, a little hotter than we would have liked, and on a quest for a hipster coffeeshop, we arrived in a cool little area where we had lunch and then hung out with our books in the Angry Catfish, a ridiculously hipster bike and coffee shop (including consuming a slightly terrifying doughnut from a nearby and excellent bakery).  When our books finished we hopped on a bus and then the tram back to the hotel where we showered and packed before heading out for dinner in a Japanese izakaya that I’d booked near the Guthrie Theatre.  I’m occasionally booking this kind of place in hopes of convincing myself that we’re not doing something silly by moving to Japan. However, this is mainly backfiring on me at the moment since Layla breaks off in the middle of conversations to gaze fixedly at various Kanji symbols to assess whether she (a) knows it (b) used to know it but can’t remember (cue for berating herself) or (c) doesn’t yet know it (also cue for berating herself).  Nonetheless the food was very good and I enjoyed my “east meets west” beer flight too… 

We then walked round the corner to the Guthrie Theatre and had a little meander there before going inside to see the play The Music Man.  This was well-done, if not my favourite musical of the era.  But it was a sold-out show, and we were exceptionally glad to be there.  Immediately after the show, there was a giant 20 minute firework display which seems to be an annual thing to celebrate Minneapolis.  It was clearly a really big deal, since people had been camping out for some hours to get a good viewing spot.  And it was a great display, which we watched for 10 or so minutes before walking home.  I almost liked the walk home more – because we were walking past lots of enthusiastic people watching from their balconies and we could hear their “ooos” and “aaas” and see the reflection of the fireworks in their windows.  And then, bed.  And the end of the second chapter of our grand holiday.  

In which Layla and Roz embark on a 37 day Farewell to America Odyssey

by Layla

On holiday for 37 days? Is this an elaborate Travelling Wives April Fools gag? Of course not: it’s July. And en route back to London after nearly four glorious years in Washington, what could be more fitting than thirty seven glorious days of holiday? Nothing, I say!

And so on Friday 17^th July, Roz and I left work at 5pm, walked home, grabbed two large suitcases, one small suitcase, and two little rucksacks, bade farewell to what was home, and dragged all our bags to one of our favourite DC restaurants, Rasika, where we had a last supper with some of our friends, before grabbing a cab, classical music playing on high volume as a fitting movie soundtrack as we whizzed past the Washington monuments, tears in our eyes, but a little thrill in our heart. It was Day 0 of the most decadent holiday of our lives.

We arrived in Bangor, Maine at midnight and headed immediately to our hotel, right inside the airport, then after a good sleep and a quick breakfast, hopped in another cab and we were off to our first destination: Bar Harbor. Now I must immediately call foul upon our American friends. We have long been asking for suggestions of where we could go for a week of hiking, biking, paddleboarding, and the like, without the need for a car. Nobody EVER mentioned Bar Harbor. And so far it is fantastic.

Bar Harbor is the tourist epicenter of Acadia National Park, a ye olde village complete with village green, touristy shops and pretentious crafty shops, perched on the beautifully scenic Maine coastline, on the tip of a beautiful forest, with free, frequent buses shuttling visitors between all the sights and trails of the Park. It is a glory of infrastructure. The weather, alas, has been a little less glorious. On our first day it was grey and lightly spitting (but luckily it has since perked up). We checked into our bed and breakfast, and headed straight for the Shore Path – a scenic stroll along the coast, with the waves breaking, the rocks in cool formations, islands popping up, and just a little mist rolling romantically across the water. Afterwards we strolled up to Two Cats, a famous Bar Harbor eatery which had superlative strawberry butter which we ate on biscuits / scones alongside a really excellent breakfast burrito which we split. We then sanctimoniously stocked up on groceries for our good intentions of eating at home, filled our fridge, collapsed in exhaustion… and then dragged ourselves awake and headed out into Acadia National Park.

Our first hike took us a few miles up the Jessup trail through beautiful forest, and along a boardwalk up to a little nature garden – and then all the way back down again. Back in town, we rewarded ourselves with local beer (and not-so-local hummus) at Lompok bar before walking over to Reel Pizza, a cool and quirky independent cinema which sold pizza, which we were happy to have for our dinner while watching Minions. I was so exhausted I fell asleep during it whilst children around me (and Roz) were transfixed. The shame. But a really lovely first day of holiday.

On Sunday we managed the first long lie-in either of us have had in weeks – nearly til 8am! We ate in our little studio apartment, then boarded our first free Island Explorer bus, destination: Jordan Pond. This is a really beautiful lake, the sort of scenery that makes my heart happy. The landscape felt similar to our recent trip to Banff in Canada. And yet again, hooray for Maine vacationing infrastructure: beautifully demarcated little paths and subtle signs steered us to a ridiculously idyllic woodland path around the perimeter of the lake (with a diversion on a path to Bubble Rock which was rather less pleasant in its vertical nature!). The sun was shining and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Until we reached the restaurant at the end of the walk and had an outstanding lunch overlooking Jordan Pond. Their specialty is popovers, which turned out to be very tall Yorkshire pudding-esque items you eat with jam and butter. Both of us were fans.

We took the bus home, collapsed onto the bed and fell into a coma-like sleep. When we eventually awoke we felt horrible. A brisk walk down to the water didn’t help waken us… but two giant ice creams served as effective medication. We had a delicious meal at home, cooked by Roz, and finished the evening with drinks at Lompok.

Monday brought the sun: hooray! After Roz shamed me by going for an early run while I read my book in bed, we celebrated the sun by renting bikes and heading out on the carriage trails. There are about 45 miles of these carriage trails, beautiful wide gravel paths that wind through the National Park and around the lakes, with no car, just charming signposts and only occasional hills: perfect for cycling. We went around Eagle Lake and some other pretty lakes and had a picnic overlooking Bubble Lake. Literally picture postcard perfect scenery, and glorious warm-but-not-humid sunshine, and paths shaded by trees. This part of the world is amazing.

When we got home, we bought local cheeses and a bottle of Chardonnay and spent the afternoon reading in the pretty garden attached to the B&B, which we had all to ourselves. Roz cooked a delicious salad dish incorporating all the delicious ingredients you can think of. And then we walked down to the water and to the paddleboarding shop… oh yes, it was time to seize the sun! They wouldn’t let us paddleboard on the sea as it was too rough, but they would let us do paddleboard yoga on Echo Pond. Roz was delighted. It was a bit chilly by the time the yoga started, especially as I’m not very good at yoga on dry land, much less on a paddleboard! But the scenery was idyllic, the sky felt huge and blue, the water was warm and less polluted than our regular Potomac River experiences, and Roz, the yoga teacher and one other bendy girl had a beautiful time doing various yoga poses while I managed approximations that sometimes earned a patronizing compliment that made me giggle. We did yoga on the lake til sunset, at which point the sun slipped behind the hills, we all shivered in the chill, the teacher instructed everyone to do the ‘warrior three’ pose and immediately fell into the water, I tried to disguise my amusement, and Roz cannily seized the moment to suggest we paddle back to dry land. We walked home via the scenic shore path and had the rest of the wine and cheese before bed.

Today the sun had taken his hat off and the place was shrouded in mist. Undeterred, we had some coffee (Roz) and weird Japanese drink (me) in a cool wee Japanese coffee shop before getting on a bus to Sandy Bay to embark upon a couple of miles of Ocean Path, commonly described as one of the most scenic walks in the area. Obviously the describers were not there in the mist. But we had fun anyway. After returning to town for a rather excellent lunch, we got on another free bus bound for the Pirate’s Cove Adventure minigolf. I am a sucker for minigolf. This one was particularly fun and kitsch, being elaborately pirate-themed, complete with a full pirate ship. We played both courses, and Roz annoyingly beat me in the first; we drew in the second. And Roz won an icecream which she generously / smugly shared with me.

After enjoying said ice cream in the drizzle, we headed back to town to put on a warmer outfit, have a beer in Lompok, eat a tasty dinner at home, and then head out to ImprovArcadia – a daily improv comedy show just down the road. It was surprisingly good though Roz is still chastising me for not being one of the volunteers. An excellent end to an excellent start of the holiday.

In which Roz and Layla see transport-themed art, hear stories, and explore their fifth NYC borough

When we arrived in New York, Roz and I were rumpled by the thought of this being our last New York minibreak for some time, possible years. We struggled with a plan, with a wild internal panic that we might not make the most of it – and the rain certainly didn’t help. Soon we had found a hipster bakery for lunch, and we started to calm down. We headed for a transportation exhibition at the New York Transit Museum outpost at Grand Central Station, which was quite pleasant, then headed down to the Meatpacking District to see the Whitney in its new location. The Whitney is a modern art museum and its new building beautifully reflects this. I loved the outside balconies and steps and views over the Highline Park and out to the Statue of Liberty (once the rain went off). I wasn’t quite so enthused by the actual artwork, though the reviews would suggest I am alone in this. Lots of interesting things to see though, and rounded off with an icecream at the unbearably (yet delightfully) hipster Gansevoort Market.

While we ate our ice cream, I noticed a tweet about an exhibition at the Society of Graphic Illustrators, all about art commissioned by the New York Metro Transport Authority. How could we resist our second transport-themed art extravaganza of the day? We hopped on a train and soon we were the exhibition’s only (and most enthusiastic) visitors, very much enjoying all the cool train art, not to mention the enviable restaurant which was sadly closed. Instead we went to a rather lovely wine bar and had a quick dinner and glass of wine before getting on another train and heading north, destination: the Bronx.

We popped out at Yankee Stadium, walked a few minutes, and found ourselves at the Bronx Museum of the Arts, location that evening of The Moth story slam. The room filled up with story lovers and while I put my name in the bag, for at least the fourth time of trying, I was not selected to tell my story. However, this was probably for the best as there were some truly excellent storytellers, especially the eventual winner who was an absolute treat to hear. We laughed, we cried and we drank cheap beer, and wondered how New York storytellers were so outstanding.

The next day we marveled over the superlative buffet (one of us more than the other – this does not bode well for my behavior at the breakfast buffet aboard the Queen Mary 2 in a couple of months…) at the Marriott Residence Hotel, before heading out in the rain to the IFC to see a Japanese anime film. This is becoming a bit of a New York tradition for us! The film in question was When Marnie Was There, which we were quite excited about as a potential lesbian romance, til sadly this was disproved. But very enjoyable nevertheless, and by the time we emerged, the rain had gone off. We strolled down 6^th Avenue towards Soho, stopping for some falafel sandwiches for lunch, before catching up with the New York Gallery Tours, our favourite tour of the best current gallery exhibitions. We’d never been on a Soho-based tour, and really enjoyed many of the seven galleries we visited, particularly one with a really cool light and shadow approach. Afterwards we went to a hipster coffee shop and read our books, then strolled around the perimeter of Washington Park in the sunshine, watching dogs frolic in the various size-specific dog parks. Then we grabbed ice cream, and got in line at the Cornelia Street Café. Not only did we go there on our New York honeymoon, the Cornelia Street Café is home both to some outstanding hummous, and to The Liar Show, the Perfect Liars Club’s New York sister. We had an entertaining time listening to the stories and trying to guess the liar… and I was insufferably smug when I was successful! After the show we went upstairs and drank champagne and had dinner and toasted a delightful Saturday.

On Sunday morning, I tried to restrain myself at the breakfast buffet though sadly my eventual choices could not accurately be described as such. We walked our suitcase half an hour down the road, through the Sunday morning streets, to put it in left luggage at Penn Station, then hopped on a train bound for Queens.

We’ve had plans for a while to explore more hiking in New York City, and had heard good things about Forest Park. It involved a train and a bus but eventually we got there. Forest Park is flawed by being too loudly surrounded by freeways… but it was otherwise lovely. We took several trails around the park and it felt satisfactorily foresty. Perhaps we should have quit while we were ahead…

“Hmmm, you know what looks near on the map?” asked Roz. “Flushing Meadows!” It was, it turned out, not that near. Thank goodness we stopped at a random place for bagels, because it turned out to be quite a trek to get there, along sidewalks that had not encountered another pedestrian for years, in the increasingly blazing sun. It probably took us about 40 minutes to get to Flushing Meadows, on the banks of a pretty lake, and when we did, Roz stepped in mud up to one of her ankles. We stopped to de-mud and rest in the shade under a tree while watching a huge Korean party that involved repeated games of tug-of-war. What was delightful about Flushing Meadows was how many local families were there to hang out and have fun.

We kept walking, and soon found ourselves up where the World’s Fair once took place. This was very cool – all the paths were named after parts of the world, or ‘commerce’ or whatever. There was a huge globe, and various old fashioned futuristic buildings. Plus it turned out to be a big anniversary festival, with music and food and cheeriness. We walked all through it and ended up playing minigolf which was very satisfactory, particularly when I won!

We headed home past the Mets stadium. Or rather we headed to a sushi bar just off Union Square, then to Dear Irving, one of our favourite cocktail speakeasies. We had some delicious drinks in delightfully cool surroundings and toasted our lovely weekend, before walking another half hour, because clearly we had not walked far enough, to Penn Station and home to DC. My Up Jawbone says I walked 30,000 steps today… I can believe it! Goodbye New York. The next time we see you we’ll be preparing to sail away.