Swiss Family Grass

Shortly after Labor Day we hit the turnpike bound for the shores of New Jersey. Well, not really the shores. More like the shipyards. It’s time to drop off our van to the docks for delivery to Switzerland. Driving from Maine to New Jersey is just shy of 6 hours and we planned to move quickly, with as few stops as possible. The shock of gasoline prices has finally worn off, and now we are simply in search of a gas station where gasoline is priced as close to the three dollar mark as possible. A service stop off the turnpike yielded gas at $3.15 a gallon, a steal compared to the stations we’d passed earlier. At a previous stop I was able to take a snapshot as the gas station attendant was changing the price. When he noticed he was being photographed he was quick to tell me that this wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time he would change the price this week.

With the van and Nicole’s car gassed up, we continued on the toll roads heading south. As Californian’s we are not accustomed to toll roads. By the time we reached New Jersey, our wallets were lighter and we were grateful for the true ‘freeways’ we have at home.

Finding the shipper’s drop off point proved challenging. The directions we had led us away from the waterfront, and into a town forgotten by business and industry. Each turn of a corner in Avenel, New Jersey moved us from boarded up buildings to streets lined with abandoned motels and dilapidated strip malls. The streets were dirty and the air thick with pollution. We were hoping to just make the drop and head right back to Maine. Oh, if only that was the way the day would go…

Instead, we turned into the culdesac that housed the shipper’s headquarters and were shocked to see a prison across the street, complete with prisoners working out in the yard and armed guards atop watchtowers. The shipyard turned out to be a small warehouse, where the van would be loaded into a container and then trucked to the freighter. When we approached the warehouse we were greeted by a motley crew, a group of four men who bore an uncanny resemblance to characters from a popular HBO series…take your pick, Sopranos or The Wire. They were gangster looking types who turned out to have the smarts of the three stooges, only there were four of them. They peered into our van, and walked around the vehicle looking at it with the eyes of men who have helped themselves to goods not their’s before. I was uneasy leaving the van with them, and by the look on Andy’s face, he wasn’t excited about handing the van over to them either. The lead idiot said to us, “All you need to do is leave me the keys, the car, and the title to the vehicle.” Yeah right, I’m going to hand over the vehicle that has been my home for the past two months to four thugs eyeballing it in a way that told me the second we left the warehouse the van would be mysteriously ‘lost in transit’. No way.

So, we told the crew that we were going to go get the van ready for travel, and we made a beeline for a telephone to contact the shipping office in New York. Claudia, the company representative we had been working with didn’t sound surprised when I voiced our concerns, and she said she knew how it appeared. But, she reassured me that the container service they use is reputable and that our one worldly possession was insured for the full value of the vehicle should something happen. It was at that point, sitting in a car in front of a state prison debating our options that Andy and I realized there really wasn’t much we could do. We had to put our faith in the journey. Either the van would make it to Swizterland intact, or it wouldn’t. From the time we dropped off the van until the time we pick it up in Basel, worrying wouldn’t help the process.

We decided to take the van to a carwash and thoroughly clean and pack the car for travel on the high seas. Little did we know that this task would prove so difficult. The first carwash we ventured to was filthy, kind of an oxymoron for a car wash. In addition, there were dead birds littering the carwash stalls. Next, we found a clean, well kept carwash where the cleaning nozzle actually contained REAL cleaning products. We set to washing the car, inside and out, and began to repack the vehicle when a man with a gun in a holster strapped to his side walked over to us and said that he was the owner. The man informed us that he had noticed we had been there awhile, and that we were in a bad neighborhood and would need to leave as soon as the night lights went on. He went on further to say that two recent homicides had occurred in the area. No further notice was needed. We packed our things and were on our way.

That night we stayed in a hotel in a town bordering the city where we were to drop off the van. At $185.00 per night, this city was definitely a step up from the digs we had seen in Avenel. The next morning we woke up bright and early, dropped the van off, and with nary a look back drove across the bridge into Manhattan.

Once in Manhattan, we stopped at the administrative offices of the shipping company, wrote a check for the passage of the van, and headed to one of my favorite New York deli’s for a pastrami sandwich and a Dr. Browns black cherry soda. Katz’s deli is an institution of sorts, and since it was Andy’s first time, I sent him in to pick up our lunch. I think he liked the look and feel of the eatery as much as I do. We ate in the car as we drove to northern New York to visit the grave of Andy’s namesake. All seemed to be going smoothly until we received a call from the shipper that our van did not fit into the 20 ft. container. Apparently the van could be driven into the container, but it’s size did not leave enough room to allowing for strapping the vehicle. It would cost another $745.00 to ship the van in a 40ft. container. We were at the mercy of the shipper, as we were now on a deadline, and so we agreed.

With that bad news in tow, we drove to Connecticut for a free two night stay at a Sheraton (a way to cut lodging costs for a few days), and then we drove to Cape Cod for a five night stay. Our Cape Cod hotel was located in Hyannis, about a two minute drive to the beach. We walked the town main street, visited the beaches, ate some semi-decent Thai food, and drove one day the length of Cape Cod to Provincetown.

We both enjoyed Provincetown quite a bit. The bustling main street is lined with interesting shops, and the laid back atmosphere and liberal townspeople were a welcome sight. I especially liked the Portuguese influence, which could be seen in the local food, portuguese malasadas and linguica and beans. Yum.

We also found a shop that specialized in Portuguese ceramics. The owners were from Portugal, and when I shared that my sister’s and I always wanted to open a shop like his, he remarked, “Not in Provincetown, right?” I guess he’s not too eager for the competition.

During our walk on Commercial Street, we stopped for a mango granita and admired the gelato at a shop owned by a local woman. Seeing the gelato made me long for Italy, and I grew exctied for our upcoming trip to Europe.

A view of the harbor at sunset, and the day was complete.

One interesting development that took place while in Cape Cod was our booking a place to stay during the winter. Andy had begun to worry that the van would become too cold to live in during the winter months, and began looking for housesitting jobs in Europe. He found a bed and breakfast in the south of France that needed caretakers for the winter. The owners travel to South Africa to run their other property in Cape Town during the winter and need someone to stay with their cats. We were able to secure the place for five months. We will be staying in a 16th century farmhouse with all the amenities of a fine bed and breakfast. There is room to sleep twelve, so we hope that many friends and family will come for a visit.

With a rather relaxing five days under our belt, we continued on to Boston. We spent four nights in Wakefield, a suburb of Boston. While in Hyannis we had telephoned Morton and Joan in Brookline and made arrangements to meet them for dinner. On Friday we met them at their home, a beautiful domicile draped in art and fine furnishings. They took us to a local Thai restaurant that had food with the most amazing flavors, Asian infused with American subtleties. Absolutely delicious. A welcome change from the camping fare we were now used to. Good food was followed by great conversation, as Morton and Joan shared many family stories. It was wonderful to spend time with family and feel so welcome, and at home. Morton and Joan made several walking tour recommendations, and we spent the next few days crisscrossing the city on foot with ease.

On Sunday we went to an A’s vs. Red Sox game. Oakland led the entire game, so you could hear a pin drop at Fenway. The fans were none to pleased with the outcome of the game. Overall, the fans were friendly. I was wearing Andy’s A’s jersey, as he didn’t have the nerve. Once seated in the bleachers, a fan tapped me on the shoulder and promised not to spill “too much beer” on my jersey. We all had a good laugh. The most stunning of all developments at Fenway was the fact that the young man seated next to us was from San Jose. He went to Bellarmine and now attends UC Berkeley. We both chuckled at the irony of being seated next to eachother so far from home. It was a great way to spend the day at the ballpark, watching America’s favorite pastime.

One final note about the game…as we left the park and walked back to the car we encountered a half dozen fans wearing A’s insignia gear at the player’s gate. As we approached, one of the fans pointed to my jersey and said, “There’s another one!” I responded with “Oaktown in the house!” All the fans fell silent and stared at me curiously. I guess they weren’t true hometown A’s fans. Who doesn’t know the A’s are from Oaktown?

Monday morning put us back on the road, and we drove to Old Orchard to find a pet friendly, cheap motel on the beach for the remaining two weeks before our flight to Switzerland. We were lucky to find a hotel located “on the beach”, where the owners were eager to make us a deal for the two week stay. We booked the room, which came with a kitchenette to ease the strain eating out has on the pocketbook. From day one, I fell in love with Old Orchard. As this is the quiet season, tourists are gone and you can walk the beach for miles and only pass a handful of people.

So, that’s what I did. I spent the days walking Petey on the beach, and he spent the days playing with the many dogs that roamed the shoreline. It was great for both of us. Exercise and socializing combined. Perfect! Well, almost perfect. About two days before Petey was to go to a veterinarian in Portland to get a ‘clean bill of health’ certificate for entry to Switzerland, he go into quite a tussle with a very large German Sheperd. He ran to the sheperd on the beach and went straight for it’s neck. After a few minutes of circling the leashed sheperd, the dog grew tired of Petey’s persistence and grabbed him by his neck and began shaking him like a dog toy. Andy and I tried without success to free Petey from the other dog’s clutches. When all was said and done, it looked as if Petey had come away from the skirmish unscathed. But, when we got back to the motel, we noticed a bloody puncture wound on Petey’s neck. We waited to see if it would stop bleeding (as we were concerned if we went to the vet, he would not pass the health exam needed for travel). The wound seemed to scab over, so we decided to skip the vet that day, and wait for his appointment scheduled for Friday.

Every other day we would head into Portland to visit with Nicole. She continued to show us the sights of Portland and we made two road trips. First, we went to Freeport to stock up on long john’s (per Morton’s suggestion). Then, the following week we drove to Auburn to visit with Aunt June and Adele Silverman.

Also during our stay, one of Nicole’s friends cooked a full Tex-Mex meal for us, complete with Chile Rellenos. Between days by the sea and sightseeing with Nicole, the time passed quickly. After running some last minute errands, including stocking up on toiletries and goods for the pooch, a visit to the veterinarian for a health certificate, and stopping to pick up some new clothes, it was time to say goodbye. Nicole took us out for a lovely dinner, and then the next night she came to Old Orchard one last time. We walked the beach together and spoke of how the time had passed so quickly. The sun set, and she was off for home.

The next morning we awoke early to drive to Sutton, Massachusetts to get Petey’s health certificate endorsed by the USDA (what a racket that is!). One office claims you need two signatures, while another tells you that you don’t even need a health certificate. We decided to play it safe and pay for BOTH signatures. Then, we went to a hotel near the airport in Boston to rest up for the flight. Oh, and if only we could have rested. But, instead we spent the better part of the afternoon giving Petey a flea bath to get rid of the infestation he received at the “pet friendly” motel. Then to make matters worse, the flea treatment appeared to loosen the scabbing on the puncture wound, thereby leaving a gaping, bleeding hole on Petey’s neck. So, we were off to the vet again. We were lucky to find a vet in town who called Petey’s condition an ‘accident’ instead of a bite, so he could still travel. She irrigated his wound, prescribed antibiotics, and gave us a sterile solution IV bag and needle so that we could irrigate the wound for the next three days. It was an absolutely nervewracking ordeal, and I was glad when we were able to get Petey’s wound camoflauged and ‘customs inspection’ ready. Next, we were back to the hotel to quickly pack and leave for the airport.

At the airport, I gave Petey a last walk before placing him in his kennel, went with him to be inspected by the Transportation Authority, and then handed him over to the airline (the whole time praying to the big guy above that everything would go smoothly). Then, Andy and I cleared the security checkpoints and made it the to gate in time to watch Petey’s kennel be carried onto a conveyor belt on the tarmac and loaded onto the plane. It was with great relief and a huge smile that I witnessed his loading onto our plane. With that weight lifted off my shoulders, I had now only to worry of his fear during the flight. Shortly thereafter we boarded the plane and were bound for Switzerland, the mystery of what lies ahead merely a buzz in my ear.