A Trip (down memory lane): Part 5

The Grand Finale.

Saturday evening in Milford was spent wrapped in the warm arms of the Hotel Fauchere. The Loved One and I put on some respectable clothes, took the elevator down to the Bar Louis and had a pre-dinner drink. We both stuck with our wine choices from the previous evening; he, the Pinot, and I, the Mercurey.

The waitress who served us the night before recognized us and seemed genuinely happy to see us. I looked around the bar and recognized some familiar faces from the night before: the Miserable Couple (of course), a pair of straight, beer-drinking guys from town, and a young couple who had been a step behind us on our tour of the town all day. I mentioned them to the Loved One and I half-listened to their conversation. It was obvious they were staying at the hotel together but they seemed at the very beginning of their relationship. The conversation was akin to that one would have on a first or second date and I found it odd they were vacationing together.

It reminded me of a couple the Loved One and I had eavesdropped on when we were in Tulum, Mexico last spring. We had toured the ruins and had taken a taxi into town. The driver recommended a place to eat and we grabbed a table outside, ordered Michaladas and looked out on the quiet, dirty, sad streets. It was April and definitely off-season. A young man and woman our age sat at the table next to us. They were obviously traveling together but I couldn't tell in what capacity. The young woman kept talking about some other girl. "Didn't you used to date her?" et cetera. She was fishing for info from this guy and she was way into him. Finally she said about the other girl, "Well. She has cankles." There was a pause. Then to cover, "I mean, she's nice and everything but she's not all that." The Loved One and I almost spat out our drinks and from that point on I stopped listening. If she was trying to get closer to this guy she had just ruined her chances.

The young couple at the Bar Louis were very preppy and very upper class. The girl was very shy and embarrassed by the fact that she didn't know how to pronounce "Kir Royale" from the drinks menu. She was trying to explain the drink to the waitress and finally she grabbed the menu and pointed. The guy asked for their "oldest scotch." I flashed forward to what their lives would be like in 40 years. As soon as the drinks were served they began stressing about the fact that they were going to be late for dinner and they took their drinks upstairs with them, asking the waitress to charge their room and not leaving a tip. I didn't like them.

When they left I noticed D/Nick at a table behind where they were sitting. He was sitting with two men and we made eye contact. I went over to say hello, the Loved One behind me, and thank him again for the tour. He introduced to the men across from him. They also had a llama farm -- only theirs was in upstate New York. How many llama farms are there in the US? Crazy. We went back to our drinks and then up to the Delmonico for dinner.

The maitre d asked if we could wait a few minutes and we said 'of course' and sat on the back porch and paged through magazines. We were sat about five minutes after that. The young woman who had served us breakfast was also working the dinner shift and she also recognized us and greeted us kindly. It feels good when you're staying somewhere and people recognize and engage you.

The owner of the bookstore in town had highly recommended the lamb so when I saw it at the top of the menu, I barely looked further. The Loved One ordered the Delmonico steak which, I have to say, was also very tempting. The Loved One started with the tuna tartar (no thanks) and I had the escargot (perfection). We had another glass of wine and sat in a comfortable silence. I enjoyed watching the other tables, I enjoyed just soaking in the atmosphere of the restaurant. We were in no rush to eat. We were in no rush to leave. The food came out in its own time and I was pleased that we weren't being rushed in and out. For once, we skipped dessert and I regret it now.

The next morning, I awoke already sad that we had to leave. I threw on my jacket and ran to the ATM to get cash for the day. The Loved One met me in the Delmonico for breakfast. Again, we were greeted and recognized by familiar faces and also some new ones. Our waitress at breakfast and dinner the other day was there again and I jokingly asked her is her if she ever took any time off. We had a huge pot of coffee and a seat by the front window so I was able to watch people walking by as well as the other guests of the restaurant. Sunday brunch seemed to be much more popular than Saturday and the restaurant was alive with activity; tables being turned over, food coming out, OJ and water being poured.

After breakfast, the Loved One went to get pastries to take back with us and I went back to the room. I realized that I had forgotten my jacket in the restaurant. The Loved One opened the door with it in his hand. Who gave it to you, I asked? "How did you know?" I realized when I got back to the room. It wasn't Kenda was it? The one who I bugged all yesterday about my ATM card. "Yes." Damn. She's gonna think I'm a moron.

I knew it was Kenda. I had seen her around the lobby area when we went down to breakfast and I knew I was going to have to see her when we checked out. And, seriously. What must she think? She was very kind and I said I was just so relaxed that I kept forgetting things and wasn't usually so stupid. I'm still not sure she believed me. But I wouldn't have believed me either.
And just like that, our stay at the Hotel Fauchere was finished.

We got into the car and I looked longingly up at our room on the third floor. I wasn't quite ready to live Milford. But there were waterfalls to see and perhaps some more fun adventures on the way home. And there were. The waterfalls were beautiful. I'm glad that we stopped and I want to go back in warmer weather to hike those trails. As we made our way down a young guy in sweats, hiking boots, windbreaker and heavy backpack stopped us on the trail and said if we climbed over the fence and worked our way down the view was really amazing. I was enthralled by the metal piercing that went straight through his septum. I thanked him kindly and as we walked away I turned to Loved One and said, I would assume if a fence it there we're probably not supposed to climb over it. He agreed.

On the drive home we encountered one or two lone antique stores. One appeared to be the raised basement of someone's home. A sadness hung over this store. We went through very quickly and then left. The next was called Old Church Antiques or something like that and it was huge. A basement full of crap and a first floor full of crap. By the time we came to the next town, whose name I forget, that seemed to be nothing but antique stores we were spent. We walked around for bit, had lunch and then called it quits. I had had enough of other people's musty old crap. If they didn't want it, I certainly didn't. We had lunch and hit the road. Again.

Of course we came across what appeared to be an outlet center. So we stopped. The bookstore was disappointing. The Bass Outlet was...a Bass outlet. The Izod Outlet was a mess. The coffee was watery. And the cheese shop stank to high heaven in the worst way. Depressed and ready to be home we, once again, hit the road. Both of us were sick of our music but I put on an old Jason Mraz cd for a little life. Sunday anxiety was starting to build in my chest like a shoestring knot. It would tighten and increase with every mile closer to the city.

Happily, we came across a mall. One of the many fascinations the Loved One and I share is with malls. If there is one around, we go. Sociologically, nothing tells you more about a town and its people better than a trip to the mall. I love to look at the people. The mall was called the 'Rockaways' not to be confused, I guess, with Far Rockaway. It was interesting. The Loved One found it depressing. I didn't. Just a little sad. Which most malls are, particularly in a recession.

We walked it in half an hour, stopped at Borders so the Loved One could get a latte and hit the road one, final time.

And so it came to pass, our weekend in Pennsylvania was over. We picked up Ripley at the funeral home and headed to our Greenpoint abode. The daffodils did not bloom in our absence but they had turned yellow and would open any day now.

That was a week ago. And tonight I would like to go to Bar Louis for a glass of Mercurey and some truffle fries.