Road trippin'

Road trips are fun. There are people who shudder at the thought of piling into a wheeled conveyance crammed full of people and their stuff for hours at a time. I am not one of those people. Having been raised in a road trippin' family, I am more than content to perch in the back of a car amongst the luggage and watch the world outside roll past.

A couple of weekends ago, I took a little road trip to Kingston (ON) with N and one of his bandmates - they were playing at the Tir Nan Og. I was playing roadie. We made the journey on a muggy Friday evening in a tank of a Jeep that was packed to the roll bars with bags and musical instruments. I sat in the back, curling myself around N's guitar. It was a comfortable fit. Then, after gassing up and negotiating the ubiquitous Queensway traffic, we were on the highway.

Is it wrong to say that I loved the drive? Aside from the gorgeous, bruised violet/pewter light (humid summer evenings are pretty like that), I think it had a lot to do with the smell of wet green. It was heady, fecund. I could smell it through N's passenger-side window, even at 100 kmph. That smell. It's so....Ontario. It's not at all like home, where it never gets warm enough and the vegetation is decidedly un-deciduous. You need plowed fields and broad-leaved foliage and juicy undergrowth to distill this distinctly Upper Canadian essence.

At any rate - that smell, that verdant stench, does things to me. Combined with the dusky light and the rise and fall of conversation over the rush of wheels beneath me, I was in heaven. Sensory bliss. Being within arms' reach of N in all of his deliciousness was the relish on the kosher hot dog of goodness that was the drive to K-town.

- - Tangent: There is something decadent about that subtle stickiness of the skin that happens on a muggy evening. It's a feeling that makes me stretch slowly, loving the heavy warmth, the barometric pressure that means summer and greenery and ripe cherries and less clothes. It's luxurious. Erotic. Like strolling shoeless and white sundresses with staps that insist on sliding down over bare shoulders. It makes me want to fondle the produce at outdoor market stalls and play hooky from work to go fishing. I want to eat peaches and run through sprinklers and drink sangria and make out on a balcony at night. Ah, summer. - -

I digress. The trip to Kingston was fantastic. N & Co. rocked the Tir both nights. I attended my first Saturday services at a very welcoming Orthodox shul (separate post forthcoming). The highlight of the weekend, however, had to be the gem of a hotel at which we stayed - the Hotel Belvedere. "Love nest" is putting it mildly. Our room was a haven of peace and comfort, fully furnished with beautiful antiques. The bed was so good, I can't even tell you. Breakfast - a light nosh of English muffins and preserves/cheese, fresh juice and coffee - was served either in-room, downstairs in the drawing room or outside on the adjoining terrace. We did breakfast on the terrace on Saturday morning, right after shul - it was lovely, a veritable bower. Cherubs, ivy and birdsong. The whole works. The drawing room was the french-doored picture of gentility, perfect for coffee sipping and chatting in the p.m. Delightful.

I could go on, but my next post (all pics) will say it better. Stay tuned.