Buffalo to Boston

The problem with having so much adventure, is that it takes time to write down. This becomes more of a problem when you decide to leave your laptop in Maine, and from then on need to rely on internet cafes, which, unlike in Europe, are not all that common in the US. It also makes it harder to put up photos when you impulse stop to write up a blog, but hopefully I'll add some later.

Buffalo, New York

21 August 2007

Angry Dave and I arrived in Buffalo on what I think was a Tuesday night. Angry Dave had booked a hostel on Main Street and I had decided to just wing it and hope for the best. It worked for me in Europe, but unfortunately things are different in America. We were worried that we'd made a terrible mistake trying to find the hostel, as Main street was deserted. I'd never seen a more dying town. Even Garema Place in Canberra on a Sunday evening in winter has more action. After telling me that there was no room, the guy working in the hostel told me of some rooms he knew of above a pub a couple of blocks away. I left Angry Dave to check in, and I went over to check it out. It was the worse hotel I'd ever seen. Cats were roaming the corridors, and the man managing the pub told me he normally doesn't let it out for one night, it's normally for homeless people and druggies. I checked out what he said was the best room he had. As I went to unlock the door, it swung open, and I was greeted by a bare floor and a cupboard. There was no bed, and no lock on the door. I was done. I thanked the guy for his time and checked in at a cheap hotel a few more blocks away. Angry Dave and I went to where apparently the action happens in Buffalo on a Tuesday night. There wasn't much going on, except for one very awesome thing: $5 pitchers of beer. We'd been paying four times that much in New York City, here it was the same price as a pint but we got a whole pitcher. Needless to say, we got drunk. We also had Buffalo Wings - this was the town that invented them after all.

The next day we were hung over, but were resolved to visit Niagara Falls, only an hour bus ride away. It was definitely worth it. We jumped on the Maid of the Mist, a tug-boat which took people right into the middle of the falls. We got absolutely saturated, but were very refreshed. Niagara Falls were very impressive. Angry Dave and I then decided to walk to Canada for lunch. The Canadian side of the Falls was much better than the US side. It was like a mini-Atlantic City, but with Canadians. Angry Dave was very impressed with Canada, and happy with the new stamp in his passport.

Early the next morning, after I couldn't sleep, I decided to leave Angry Dave; he had booked a flight to Boston, and I walked down to the Bus Station. After checking the next bus departure time, I was on my way to Cleveland, Ohio.

Cleveland, Ohio

23 August 2007

Cleveland doesn't have any hostels, and so again I booked into a cheap motel. Cleveland was similar to Buffalo, it seems this whole area has a slowing economy, but it had one big advantage, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I checked it out, listened to some Hendrix and the Doors, and then ticked it off the list. It was time to get drunk in another town, this time by myself. I found a bar which was actually pretty good, with $2 beers and made some friends pretty quickly. Unfortunately, my thongs had been slowly breaking, and occasionally break when I walked, causing me to trip and then stop and fix them. This happened around 3am in the bar in front of the bouncer. He assumed I was hammered and kicked me out. Disaster. Oh well, time to go home.

I hired a rental car the next day, as I had to get to Boston in about 3 days time, and it was too expensive to fly. The Hertz rental woman was struck by my aussie accent and taste for adventure, and upgraded my car to a Mazda M6 - it was a nice ride. As an aside, I ended up returning the car late in Boston, and my aussie accent saved me again, this time the extra day rental charge.

I decided to drive to Rochester. I had no maps, and no idea what was there, except I'd heard it was a university town. I had a vague idea where it was, and figured I'd wing it, if worse came to worse, I'd sleep in the car. On the way, I wanted to check out Amish country. After stopping a couple of times for directions, I ended up having lunch at an Amish restaurant. I ordered an Amish 'favourite', Noodles on Mash Potato. It tasted exactly like it sounds, and moved on, a little disappointed. Most Amish it appears have embraced the 21st century, and drive around in big Ford Pick-Ups, parked in their garage next to their buggy. They still dress traditionally, and make the best pretzels in America.

Rochester, New York

24 August 2007

I arrived in Rochester about 9pm, with no real struggles, except having to have a nap on the side of the highway for about half an hour. I drove around the town looking for an area that looked like it had some bars. Eventually I found a likely place, parked the car somewhere that looked safe but would be quiet enough if I needed to sleep. I'd been in the car all day, and was in desperate need for a shower and a beer. Unfortunately the shower was going to have to wait.

Within 10 minutes of arriving at the bar and ordering another bargain priced pitcher, I was offered a place to crash by some locals. I'd also been roped into playing a game of 'cricket'. Cricket in the US is a darts game, which scores a little like bowling. It took me all night to work out the subtleties, and just aimed for what my teammate told me. I hadn't played darts for a few years, but I didn't let my country down. The guys I was playing darts with were having a clam bake the next day, and I scored myself an invite. I also managed to get another offer of a place to crash - it was only a couch, but much better than sleeping in the backseat of the rental car.

The next day I made my way out to the suburbs of Rochester. The area is quite nice, big houses in quiet neighbourhoods. A clam bake is the Maine version of a barbie, but with clams and beer pong. Beer pong is massive over here, and I think I'm an addict. The Americans need to harden up though, and put more than just a couple of sips into each cup.

I had planned to drive to Boston that night, but the clam bake was good fun, and I was told that I was more than welcome to crash. I took them up on their offer, planning to set off at 5am to get to Boston in time to return the car. I woke at 8 - I hadn't had much sleep the last few days, and returned the car about 4 hours late. But as we know, it ended happily.

Boston, Massachusetts

26 August 2007

After I'd had my luck with returning the car, I was looking forward to Boston. It seemed my run of luck had turned good. How wrong I was. I arrived in Downtown Boston and spent the next two hours walking around from hostel to hostel trying to find a spare bed. Eventually I ended up just out of downtown at a place that used to be a hostel. They put me onto another place, and for the price of a hotel room, I had a shit bed in a crowded hostel.

It didn't really matter about the bed, as I only got a few hours sleep in it. That night, while eating a late night slice of pizza with a co-hosteller, I met Moroccan royalty. He took us to some classy hotel lounges and got us some after hours drinks. He was pretty classy, and was known by all the hotel managers. He'd invited us to a party the following night, but we never made it, as we were too tired, and just played some lazy pool. I met back up with Angry Dave that day, and he crashed at the hostel too. We decided at that point that while the hostel scene is good, a hotel room for the same price is much better, and we'll just make friends the old fashion way - by getting drunk and talking in an aussie accent.

Boston as a city was quite nice. Very similar architecture to Brooklyn in the nice suburbs, but dripping with American history and Irish bars in downtown. But two days was enough. We went to the famous Cheers bar, got bad service and expensive beers. Boston - tick. It was time to go to Portland, Maine to meet back up with Hawkins and buy a car.

Hawkins buys $7 cargo shorts!

Team Hawketc buys a car.

After 2 days of often frustrating car shoppingin Portland, ME, the team (Hawkins, Corey, Angry Dave) managed to buy a car; let the road trip begin!

We had dreams of a soft-top Jeep Wrangler. Our dreams did not come true. We will be driving across the country in a triple-beige Buick Century. I think the average age of Buick Century drivers is about 75. We've dubbed the car "Bluey". Photos to follow.

The AC - Part 2

Hawkins and Corey drink $7 cans of Corona all afternoon.

Hawkins plays poker in singlet, plays well but without luck, and is called "trailer trash" at one point. Hawkins plays a second tournament, comes 5th and breaks even for the night. Tries to find Corey. Corey is uncontactably intoxicated.

Corey runs shirtless down the boardwalk, and is turned down by numerous food vendors. Corey is finally given pizza and gatorade; he cannot hide his excitement.

Filthy room has no bathroom, but does have wash basin. Corey falls face first on floor. Begs for help. Corey is angered when Hawkins helps him up; he wanted to stay there. Hawkins drifts off to sleep. Hawkins wakes to Corey smashing plastic cup against wall. Hawkins drifts off to sleep. Hawkins wakes to Corey vomiting in basin.

Hawkins and Corey wake, and take short swim at the beach. There are old people everywhere. There are always old people everywhere in the AC. Hawkins loses money playing poker. Hawkins quits poker forever. Hawkins and Corey spend afternoon drinking. Hawkins and Corey spend evening drinking. Corey offends waitress. Waitress forgives Corey. Milosovic jokes - too soon.

Corey and Hawkins return to filthy hotel room. Corey and Hawkins vow to wake at 6:30am and leave the AC on the first bus.

Hawkins and Corey catch first bus out of AC.

The End.

The Road Trip begins

Upstate New York

For the past few weeks, the members of the Hawketc Team had been living in spacious comfort in the family-friendly suburb of Park Slope, Brooklyn. The weather has been kind to us during our time here, and as Angry Dave and myself readied to leave for the last time what had been our home away from home, we expected today to be no different from any other.

Awkwardly balancing backpacks and our daypacks, we stepped outside into what we later realized was a result of New York being on the outer fringes of a hurricane which had been bashing the Caribbean for the past few days. Within seconds we were saturated through, with another ten blocks to walk to the subway. Walking in the rain is fun enough by itself, but when it’s windy, you’re carrying all your possessions on your back, and you cleverly chose to wear shorts and thongs, it makes the experience all the more special.

I collapsed into a seat between two typically thin Americans on the F train, and sat back expecting to get some rest in before we got off at Penn Station to catch the train to Buffalo, which is up near Niagara Falls. Amazingly, we were right on schedule, and were going to make it to Penn Station in plenty of time to get out tickets, buy and snack and get a good seat for the eight hour train ride to Upstate New York. And that’s when the subway train we were on stopped.

It turned out that the train ahead had some minor break problems. I turned to Angry Dave, who had replaced one of the Americans at the last stop in the seat beside me, and questioned whether there was ever such a thing as a ‘minor break problem’. That was when a Subway official came into our carriage and said that we’re better off getting off the train and catching another.

We arrived at Penn Station half an hour late, with little idea of where to head. Of course, the first person I ask for directions was from Sydney, and was looking for the station himself. We actually didn’t end up wasting much time, and found it pretty quickly. As we hurried to our platform, Angry Dave was true to form, and wondered why I was walking so slow. Unfortunately, thongs, slippery sidewalks and wet weather don’t go together so well. With only the occasional controlled slide, we jumped on the train, the last people to get on.

And so now, with Angry Dave gently snoring next to me, I’m writing the latest installment of Hawketc. Angry Dave, frustrated with the leisurely posting-style of the Hawketc Team, has started his own blog, after promises to let him post a guest blog failed to be fulfilled. We’ll put a link somewhere on our site, it seems only fair.

Now being on the, the regularity of new blog postings to Hawketc may be affected somewhat. I’ll try to update where we’re at along the way.

Angry Dave and Corey are outsmarted by the UN

In the past week, I’ve been seeing the sights of New York that I haven’t got around to seeing in the past few weeks I’ve been here. Top on the list includes the Empire State Building, which wasn’t too bad, except that I was in the grip of a terrible cold, and the batteries on my camera were mysteriously flat after having let Hawkins use it the day before. Angry Dave and I also checked out a few other famous sites, Central Park, the New York Public Library and the headquarters of the United Nations.

I was confident after going through security at the UN that checking the place out was going to be a breeze. The line had been short, and the checks well organized (unlike the Statute of Liberty, for example). I should have known better. The only way to see the inside of the UN was in a tour, which I wasn’t really interested in, and of course the line to buy tickets for the tour was huge. Angry Dave and I had been waiting in the line for about 15 minutes when we heard an announcement from the ticket desk, “last call for the Japanese Tour”. There was no line for that. With no hesitation from myself, and some from Angry Dave, we had our Japanese tour tickets in hand, and were waiting at the UN tour entrance. It was then I realized that another non-Japanese tour was waiting at the same place, and we lined up in that tour instead. By now the Japanese tour had left, and it was looking like our plan was even more brilliant than I’d first hoped. But the UN is cleverer than that, and we were caught out as we tried to get in. We feigned ignorance, and the Japanese tour was called back for us to join on the back of. Despite not understanding anything said, the tour wasn’t too bad. Our tour guide spoke better English than Japanese, and during photo breaks, answered any questions Angry Dave and I had. As we finished the hour long tour, another group was just starting. I recognized a number of people in the new tour who had been standing in the line in front of us, and I regretted nothing.

One last thing…

You may have noticed that Hawkins didn’t make much of an appearance in the latest adventures. He did most of the New York tourist stuff when he was here this time last year. Hawkins has also decided to head to Miami, rather than coming to Buffalo, New York. We’ll all be joining back up, most likely, in a weeks time in Maine, where we’ll organize a car for the next step of the Exaggerated Adventures of Hawkins and Corey.

Corey and Michael double-team a 151 foot chick

New York

Once we had finished studying for the exam we had always planned to add an element of adventure to our lives here in New York. I’d been living in Brooklyn, within view of the Manhattan skyline, for five weeks now but hadn’t seen anything of note in New York, except for a brief visit to Times Square. After another week of procrastinating and sleeping in, it was decided a trip to the Statue of Liberty was in order.

Visiting Liberty Island, home of the statue, is a simple matter of buying a ferry ticket at Battery Point, lining up for an hour in the humid, hundred degree weather before getting on the ferry, waiting another half hour until the ferry fills up so much that the other large annoying sweaty tourists are forced to press up against you, and then a short 10 minute ride to disembark at Liberty Island dock.

This is where most people come unstuck. A little-advertised fact about visiting the Statue is that to go up to the base, you need a ticket, which is ordered online at least two days in advance. Hawkins and I had done our research, and felt superior to the other furious tourists yelling at the guard as we strolled into the large white security tent at the entrance to the base. That was where our feeling of superiority dissipated.

The air in the tent was thick; thick with waiting. A lonely fan turned in the middle of the tent, cooling the air for the small percentage of the dozens of people who were lucky enough to wait under it. For the rest of us, it was a torturous wait, worse than any previous wait we’d had during the day. After what seemed like an hour and a half, but was closer to an eternity, we went though the final set of metal detectors and penetrated the lady of liberty.

For what it is worth, I’d say it was worthwhile. It was a great view, and now I can stay I’ve been there. For Hawkins, who had been struggling with the lack of adequate facilities, it wasn’t quite as pleasant, but we both decided it was worth it.

On our way out, we saw that where there was once lines stretching back into the distance, there was nothing but bored security guards. My advice for anyone wanting to visit New York’s most famous landmark, do it after three in the afternoon, you’ll stroll straight in.

Angry Dave arrives in Brooklyn, wakes Corey up
The Tuesday after our adventure in Atlantic City (see Hawkins’ blog), I was have a pleasant morning lie in when I was awakened by a furious knocking on the door. Angry Dave had arrived from Australia, ten hours later than planned. He was saying he was furious, as his plane had been delayed in Los Angeles, or something like that. I was only half listening, as I was looking for something to substitute for pants. Maybe it’s unusual, but I feel uncomfortable talking to a guy while pantless.

We went to our local café for breakfast, afterwards Angry Dave passed out on my bed.

Four hours later, Hawkins and I had decided Angry Dave had slept enough, and that he needed alcohol. We bundled him into a shower while we sipped a couple of eighty cent Coronas from our local supermarket. Once we was done, we headed off to Lombardi’s pizza restaurant in Little Italy.

As usual, there was a wait at Lombardi’s, even after nine on a Tuesday night. We sat at the bar, having a refreshing beer, when a group of four came in asking for a table. Angry Dave and Hawkins both kept looking over at the group waiting nearby, while I sneakily poured the rest of the pitcher of beer into my glass.

Angry Dave: Is that who I think it is?
Hawkins: I’m pretty sure that’s Kirsten Dunst!

I was dubious, but after a couple of subtle (but obvious) stares, I had to agree with the boys. Our table was then called, and as our waitress led us away, Kirsten and her crew took our seats at the bar. I’m pretty sure she deliberately took my stool.

Lines such as “When else are you going to get a chance to bone Kirsten Dunst?”, “I hear she loves Aussie guys,” and “Just go say something to her,” were constantly thrown at me during the meal, which was delicious by the way. It would be nice to have friends that either didn’t rely on me for laying the groundwork with the ladies, or once I had done all the lead in work, then didn’t proceed to cut me down in front of them. There was little incentive to go through the whole process again, this time with a celebrity. Finally I said I would, but stalled for time by going to the bathroom, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make me sound retarded. Unfortunately, I didn’t come up with anything, and decided to wing it. We walked through the main room of the restaurant, looking for Kirsten, but alas, they had gone.

And that was the time I almost shagged Kirsten Dunst.

The AC - Part 1

Over the years, I had heard stories about a magical city. The stories told of a place where everyone is welcome, and where most would leave with fond memories, as well as tales of excitement, adventure, romance and great riches. While some cities are nothing more than the buildings which they encompass, this is a place with a heart and soul that is inextricably entwined with the rich tapestry of human history upon which its foundations are set. I had a feeling that any sentiments I had for London, New York, Vienna, or even Sydney would soon pale into insignificance; I was going to Atlantic City.

It was a particularly hot Friday in August, and minutes of meticulous planning were about to come to fruition as Corey and I each packed a change of clothes and strolled out of the house towards the subway station. To the casual onlooker, we may have looked our jovial selves, loudly and sporadically singing snippets of ‘White Stripes’ songs, but we were also somewhat humbled by the thought that in a few short hours we would be in the AC.

We reached the Port Authority bus terminal at about 12:25pm. After finding a timetable, we worked out that the next bus was due to leave at 12:30pm. At 12:29pm we had tickets, and set about running, in thongs (flip-flops), to the next building and up two flights of stairs to our bus’s departure gate. Luck was on our side, and we reached the bus with a very comfortable 5 or 10 seconds to spare.

Once on the bus, we realised that the chance of us sitting together was slim, and the people already seated were not nearly so slim. At least they realised this:

Corey: Excuse me mate? Mind if I sit here?
Large Gentleman: Are you kidding? I’ve got to be the biggest guy on this f^&king bus!

Eventually, we found a couple of seats, and settled in for the bus ride.

About 15 minutes into the journey, I had a startling realisation:

Michael: Hey Corey, I don’t want to alarm you, but we’re driving on the wrong side of the road. Should I tell the driver?

As it turns out, everyone in the USA drives on the wrong side of the road, and so with the chance of imminent death somewhat reduced, I relaxed and listened to some music.

There was only one short stop in the trip, at a place called Tom’s River. I would be lying if I said I saw any redeeming quality about this place. However, I was obviously in the minority, because once we boarded the bus again, there was only about 3 other passengers continuing through to AC. The attraction of Tom’s River will forever remain a mystery.

We arrived at AC at about 3pm, and set about getting checked in to our accommodation. Lots of people who visit AC choose to stay in the elaborately decorated themed hotels that dot the boardwalk alongside the beach. Corey and I had considered that option, but instead had elected for a more rustic AC experience. After getting some directions, we headed off towards the “Inn of the Irish Pub”, our home away from home for the next two days.

Before seeing our room, we ventured into the Irish Pub itself. I’m not sure what exactly made the pub Irish, unless Ireland is always dark and smells really bad, in which case it was very authentic. After seeing the pub, we had high hopes for the quality of our room, and we weren’t disappointed. It was everything we could have asked for; warm, unventilated, damp and with a faint odour that was hard to describe, yet nonetheless unpleasant. Our two single beds were fully equipped with ill-fitting sheets, uncomfortable mattresses as well as ever-important plastic mattress protectors. Now was not the time to explore whether our shared bathroom facilities would match the plush decadence of our room, so we left our bags, and walked very briskly away from the Irish Pub. With sleeping out of the question, we had just added a few valuable hours to our AC time.

The Aftermath of the New York Bar Exam

Brooklyn, New York

There’s two things that I learnt from taking the New York Bar Exam. The first is that it’s a lot harder than I thought to learn the entire legal system of another country in only a month. The second, and much more interesting, is that apparently I have a very special skill of making friends with the Irish.

When I was over in Europe this time last year (actually this time last year I was going through the grueling rehabilitation process of learning to walk with no functioning ribs, so shortly after this time last year) I made good pals with a couple of Irish lads in Budapest. We hung out, got kicked out of a few clubs due to Donal’s ridiculous red pants, our terribly bad karaoke and various other reasons, as well as breaking many a young Hungarian lady’s heart. We then went on Bratislava (worst…city…ever) and Vienna (best…Austrian capital…ever), before arriving in Munich for Oktoberfest. But I’ve gone off track. Back to the point of this blog, my power to befriend the Irish.

Further evidence (admissible under the excited utterance exception to hearsay – sorry, law joke) comes from a visit by Hawkins and myself for a quiet drink at a local pub a couple of weeks before the exam. I had left Hawkins to himself for a minute to see to the undertaking of some very important business. After completing my work, I ran into another couple of Irish lads, and long story short, it was not a quiet night after all.

On the Tuesday, the first day of the bar exam, I arrived at Pier 90, alone, as Hawkins was doing his exam at a different venue. Being friendless, I looked around for the nearest attractive chick who looked like she wanted to be friends with an extremely attractive Aussie guy, and failing that, would be happy to settle for me. Alas, any chick who was even a remote possibility was worryingly flicking through notes in last minute revision and so I walked over to a couple of guys just chatting nearby. It turned out that, surely enough, they were Irish. We immediately got on, and hung out over the next two days while I wasted my time attempting the exam.

The Exam itself was tough, real tough. If I studied as much as I had in this last month at any time in my undergraduate degree, I would have dominated, and probably finished off my degree with a year to spare. At no stage in the exam did I have no idea about how to answer a question, but whether my answers were of the 67% quality needed to pass, I’m not so sure. I guess I’ll find out in four months. Unlike law exams at the Australian National University, the New York Bar Exam is not open book, and they test you on the small finicky things, not just broad concepts. Many of the multiple choice questions were situations where the exception to the exception applies.

Hawkins and myself went out for a few drinks after the exam with my new Irish pals, and a guy Hawkins had picked up where he did his exam. It was a quiet night, but it felt good to have the exam behind us, at least for a couple of weeks before we have another Professional Ethics exam here in New York, and then the re-sit in February next year.

Because I know you all like pictures…