Paradise Pot Roast

Whenever you go on a trip to the same place more than once, it is hard to avoid going to a lot the same places. The truth is, when you're traveling many times you don't know the area very well. Once you find a good thing in this unfamiliar place, you don't want to risk going someplace else and not having as good of a time. Some may consider this getting stuck in a rut, but for me these places are what makes the trip worth taking. They are what signify that I am really there again, and that the last time I was there was real. This is especially true for me when it comes to visiting Orlando. I had never been to Florida in my life until three years ago when I went to Disney for my senior trip. Since then, I have been three times in three years. I remember thinking the first time that I had no idea when or if I would be back again. I didn't know how long it would be until I saw the Magic Kingdom again. Lucky for me, my boyfriend's family decided to take us the next year. The year after that, my boyfriend and I went ourselves. Each time I've returned, there has been one thing that makes the trip seem like reality. That thing is the Rainforest Cafe in Downtown Disney.
My first trip to Disney was the first time I'd been to the Rainforest Cafe. Since then, I don't feel like I am really there until I cross the invisible barrier into the restaurant. There are no doors to the Rainforest Cafe- just an invisible wall. You know when you've crossed it because suddenly the air is different. It's no longer muggy; the air conditioning takes care of that. But the air still feels heavy, as rainforest air should. The smell is the other thing that hits you. The smell of the clean, chlorinated water that falls like rain throughout the restaurant. It's that smell that signals to me that I am back in Disney. I've heard that Disney has it's own smell- a bottled scent that they waft throughout their property and stores. But for some reason that doesn't affect me as much as the smell of the Rainforest Cafe.
Of course, after I smell the Rainforest Cafe, the next thing I want is to taste it. For me, the taste of the Rainforest Cafe is the Paradise Pot Roast. "Tender thick-sliced pot roast and vegetables over mashed potatoes and served in its natural juices" the Paradise Pot Roast is one of my favorite parts of my visit to Orlando. The first time I chose it because it was the cheapest thing on the menu. The second two times were because it was so delicious, I couldn't risk ordering anything else and being disappointed. Each time I ate at the Rainforest I was with other people and every time they've been jealous of my meal. I could never say the same for theirs. Mine is always pure paradise perfection. We tend to order fancy dishes when we go out, but sometimes the simple ones are the best kept secrets!

Revisiting the Dorms

This week, I spent some time in the campus dorms. I haven't really been in any dorm since I moved out at the end of my Freshman year, and haven't really had the desire to be either. I was just picking up my friend who didn't have a car so that she could come to my off-campus house for the night. I met her outside Rhody Market and drove her to her dorm, Heathman. As I pulled into the circle outside Heathman, I realized I was going to have to parallel park- something I hadn't really done since I was a high school senior visiting my friends at URI on weekends. No big deal, I thought, I used to do this every weekend. As I attempted to pull in to a giant spot, I grew more and more flustered. When I was on the verge of giving up, my friend offered to give it a try. It took her about ten tries, but eventually we had an acceptable parking job. As we got out of the car and walked up to Heathman, I realized I hadn't been inside in years. As we walked through the doors, a rush of memories came flooding back. I remembered all the good times I'd had on campus before I was even a URI student, rather than the awful experiences I'd had as a freshman with my roommates. Seeing the way that my friend interacted with the people in her hall and her suitemates made me wish that I'd had as great a time on campus as she was having. I decided to do my next project for my travel writing class, my cultural submersion piece, about a night I spent on campus with my friend and her suitemates.

Family Ties

This week, I had to drive back and forth from Narragansett to northern Rhode Island much too much. On one of my trips back to school, I stopped at my cousins house in Johnston to cut his daughter's guinea pig's nails. As I turned into their development, I realized how long it had been since I'd visited. When he first moved here with his new wife and two twin stepchildren it was almost like my second home in the summer. They would take weeks off in the summer to bring the kids to every local tourist trap; six flags, Block Island, Sturbridge village, Mystic, Boston, and they always brought me along. I drove through the once-familiar neighborhood that was in my opinion one of the nicest in Johnston. The houses beautiful, not mansions, but not tiny either. They are far enough apart that you could have a part in one and not disturb the neighbors. The only drawback is that there are no trees to speak of- it's like it was developed in the middle of a giant field.
I pulled up to their house, wondering who's car was in the driveway.Then I realized that it had been so long since I'd last seen them that they most likely had a different car by now. The backyard was almost unrecognizable- they had added a beautiful two-story deck that led from the second floor, the main floor, to the new pool. The jungle gym was new, and there was a trampoline next to it. If only we'd had all that to play on seven years ago.
As I got out of my car, I faced a conundrum: the garage wasn't open, which was where I used to enter the house from. The light was off in the back, which would have been my second choice. Feeling awkward and out of place, I walked up to the front door and knocked. No answer. I deliberated for a moment, then realized I should probably ring the doorbell. How strange. My cousin's wife (who I usually referred to as my aunt, and him as my uncle because of their age) greeted me with a smile and a big hug. The smell of their house, which I could never describe (or find bottled anywhere, I've looked) washed over me. A million memories came flooding back, serving only to remind me of the expanse of time that had passed since I'd last been here.
Family arguments (not involving me), my cousins and I growing older, my moving to college, loss, replacement, and hurt all went unsaid as we put everything aside to enjoy a few short hours together again as family.

The Last Dispatch

One of the best experiences of my life included 110,00 people on the banks of the Charles River overflowing the Hatch Shell in Boston. July 31, 2004 was the Last Dispatch. The Last Dispatch was the "largest independent music event in history." My friend Hannah and I slept over our friend Haley's house. We were 14 at the time, and up at 7 a.m. shaking Haley's dad awake. We were out the door by 8, but not before we wrote all over Haley's dads green 80's hatchback "hatch shell or bust!" We drove a bit outside Boston and hopped on the T, arriving in the city a little after ten. On the way we met other die-hard fans (or so we thought) and swapped stories.

Unfortunately, showing up 10a.m. for a 5 p.m. concert wasn't early enough, the hardcore fans had already arrived. Open-mouthed in awe of the already settled in crowd, we parked our blanket a little further back than the middle of the field because that was as close as we could get. It was already wall-to-wall people, some who had been there overnight and others since dawn. Later, in the documentary, one fan said “last night we brought a tent and we slept on the island over there so we could get here really early and get a really good spot.” Others “came here without a place to sleep, pretty much just looked around- we did it for Dispatch.” We thought we were the hardcore fans, but we found out others had beaten us by nearly a whole day. Disappointed about the our minimal view of the stage, but not discouraged, we spent the day fighting our way through sweaty crowds (it was a hot, humid 85 degree day), meeting other crazy fans and having the time of our lives. We stood in a line for t-shirts that wound for nearly four blocks through the growing crowd for hours. After we each got our prized t-shirt, we made our way back to the field. We sat and sang our favorite songs with dozens of groups of hippies who had brought their own guitars and drums to pass the time. Everyone was friendly all day long- we were there for the same reason and with many of the same beliefs. I have never experienced such a sense of community among perfect strangers.

The whole day we watched as the crowd swelled. The crowd filled up the entire highway, was all over the bridges, and went for miles. Boston police were baffled at the turnout. They brought 15 men to control the crowd of 70,000 kids (at the start of the day). The band expected a turnout of around 30-50 thousand. Just by talking to everyone around us, we gathered that this crowd was from across the country. Later we found out that not only was that true, but there were people there from Canada, Mexico, South Africa, Spain, Portugal, Costa Rica, Italy, and many other countries.

Perople were on the islands on the Charles, in bumper-to-bumper boats, shoulder-to-shoulder across Storrow Drive (which was closed in the early afternoon to accommodate the exponentially growing crowd), back-to-back on footbridges, and in any trees that would afford a decent view of the stage. Band member Brad Corrigan summed it up best “There was so much energy, so much momentum, so much speed, we were just holding on for dear life.”

It was one of the most memorable and crazy experiences of my life. Several times throughout the concert, people started chucking full water bottles, beer cans, milk jugs, and any other container of liquid in the air. It was as disgusting as it was beautiful. Body surfers littered the crowd, and beach balls flew through the air without end. After the final song, everyone picked up armloads of trash to throw away and waded through the rest. We moved as one to the subway station and packed inside even more tightly than we had been all day. The crowd began to disburse with each stop, but even as we got to our car we were still sharing stories with fellow fans. We left that night sad that it was a farewell concert, but exhilarated from the sheer experience of the day.