It’s Good to be the King!! (New Yawk: Part II)

The Massage:

So, after the overwhelming palates of wines, I knew it was time to head to my room. Now, I had more surprises yet that awaited me. The first was when I entered my room. In the few hours I had been gone, they had changed out the towels from the shower, straightened up the room, emptied the trash and left me a nice note with some small cookies and crackers from their bakery.

At first, I was a little taken aback and my Midwest “spidey” sense kicked in…. Someone had entered my room whilst I was gone!! But, the note explained that this is a “service provided by our onboard staff”… wow. Okay. I'm hip, man.

About ten minutes later (I was just about to turn on the television) I heard a knock at my door. What the?? I opened the door and there stood a minute, impeccably dressed (and beautiful) Asian woman. Behind her was a gurney of sorts. Her smile was radiant!

“Hello. My name is Sasha. I would like to know if you would like a massage tonight?”

In my best nearly-redneck-Midwestern-fake-Southern drawl I said, “You’re shittin’ me…”

She laughed and explained that this was a legitimate service offered by the hotel, free to it’s guests. Free? Huh? Wha?

“Yes, sir Mr Glaudell (she also pronounced my name perfectly!), we believe the our weary travelers seek peace and some serenity here, and we offer a sample of our services free of charge. Would you be interested?”

I said I would. She came into my room, pulling the massage table behind her. Then she informed me that I would need to undress. For modesty reasons she produced a soft terry towel with “casa blanca hotel” embroidered on it. I went into the bathroom to strip down. While hidden from site, I explained that I was very shy of my body. I told her I had several…um… personal issues regarding….my weight and my less than attractive back.

Sasha said, “Sir! I am a professional! ALL bodies and ALL backs are beautiful to me.”

Perhaps it was the wine, or maybe just the way she said it… I shrugged and said okay. I lay on the table. She rubbed a generous supply of warm and teak-wood smelling oils on her hands…and then on my back.

For the next 40 minutes, she proceeded to rub NEARLY every part of my body. I was completely at ease… as it was not sexual…but it was sensual.. it was loving…but not personal. Very strange.

In an effort to keep things lite, at some point I told her, “This is the best sex I’ve never had!” She laughed and said, “Mr. Glaudell. You are a funny man.” I told her that with no looks, talent or money, all I have left is wit. Again she laughed, and even the sound of her laughter was relaxing.

Finally, she told me she was done, and asked me if I needed any help getting off from the table. I told her no. She warned me that sometimes people have difficulty after a long session. Well, she was not kidding. I nearly fell on my knees after exiting said table.

You could have just poured me from the table into the bed (with the luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets, that felt nearly like silk, but not quite), like a pad of melted butter into a pan. I was just that limber and relaxed. In my whole life, I’ve never felt like that!

I did not know if it was proper or not (still trying to get a handle on the whole “tipping” thing), but I gave her a ten dollar tip. She bowed and thanked me and packed up her things onto the table.

I was already in bed, and nearly asleep already when she asked if she should turn out the light as she exited. I said, “Yes, thank you.”

And that was all I could remember until the next morning.

To borrow a much over-used phrase from a famous movie, “I am KING of da WORLD!”

New Yawk City, Baby!!!

Friday, Saturday, Sunday Morning:

What can you say about New York City that hasn’t been said, sung, written, or photographed already? I know it’s a sin to impart intimate objects with human qualities, but I’m tellin’ ya… if ever there was a city that was alive… it is New York. Okay, other landmark cities I’ve been in have their own personalities; Los Angeles (big, concrete roads, beautiful people); Las Vegas (Lights, sex, money); Atlanta (funk, blues, soul, traffic); Chicago (Finance, Midwest values, Wind and Water). But New York literally seemed alive to me. There was so much energy everywhere. Nothing slowed down. Everything had a hum or a beat to it. You could put your hands on the sidewalks and they hummed and thrummed with their own rhythm, and it never ever stopped.

I entered the doorway to the Casablanca Hotel, located on West 43rd street, literally eight whole steps away from that iconic picture of Times Square, with the signs, and the triangular building parting the traffic. I couldn’t stop from looking up!


The Hotel concierge at the desk was a tall, black man dressed in (and I’m not joking here) a tuxedo. He smiled and asked me, “How may I help you today, sir?” His demeanor was fatherly, in that he portrayed the perfect fit for an upscale Manhattan Hotel. I registered and from that moment on, he addressed me as “Mr. Glaudell”. He pronounced my name perfectly. Wow.

I took the elevator to the 3rd floor where my room was located. Room 306, just two doors down from the elevator. When I entered, I imagined myself as “Rick” from the movie Casablanca… tired, weary and cynical as hell. I sluffed off my clothes and for the next half hour enjoyed one of the most luxurious showers I’ve ever had.

Refreshed and changed, I headed to “Rick’s Café” located one floor down. I heard talking, laughing and generous piano music coming from below me. I took the stairs down, and entered the café, and was greeted by a beautiful young lady standing by the front of serving area. She held a glass of champagne to me and asked if I would like a glass. Yes, I said… all the while awash in luxury and her beautiful smile.

I sampled the foods laid out along the front counter. Brie cheeses. Cookies. Crackers. Little sausages. Finger sandwiches. Caviar. And wine. Your choice of any type of wine you want. As much as you want.

Since the room was full of people, I opted for a corner over by the piano. The piano player was adept at his craft. Moving from one “favorite Pop” to another with ease. When he took a short break, I asked him, “Well. Here we are at the Casablanca Hotel. Do you play it?”

“Play what?” he asked. “Oh….”

Well, of course…and for the next few minutes, time and space…reality and film noir collide as he plays “As time goes by”. I imagine myself as “Richard Blane, American.. age 35. Cannot return to his country…for reasons a little vague.” I’m waiting for Ilsa and her husband whom I hate, yet admire to show up. Sam is at the piano, and I’ve had just a little too much to drink.

Well, after a good hour immersing myself in an old Black and White movie, I decided I should probably venture forth onto the mean streets of ol’ New York City.

I exited the elevator and the same doorman that greeted me, wished me a “fair night out on the streets.” Wow. Okay.. so I stepped out and headed out to Broadway.. and Times Square.

The street itself has been segregated in the middle by what can only be described as an huge outdoor seating area. Traffic surging around the middle, where chairs and tables sat. There were streams of people coming to and fro on the street, yet the middle was also populated with what seemed like hundreds of people.

I opted for turning up Broadway, headed north… 43rd.. 47th.. I was going to try and find the George Gershwin Theater.. that’s where the play “Wicked” was playing, and where I had tickets for the very next evening.

The walk up and down the crowded and busy street was like wandering through wonderland. Every kind of department, specialty store, restaurant, clothier, club, theater, nightclub you could ever imagined right in front of your eyes. Names everyone has heard, The Brown Derby, Sacks of 5th Avenue, Macy’s (the REAL one…where they have the thanksgiving parade.. and where “miracle on 34th street” took place!), The Paramount Theater (more on that later), The Ed Sullivan Theater… It was like having the world at your fingertips. All you had to do was enter..

Street vendors everywhere!! And purses! Oh my gosh, Ladies!!! Thousands upon thousands of purses for sale on tables on nearly every corner… Magazine stands… Hot Dog-Peanuts-Sandwich vendors…Rickshaw taxis (I still say that’s the wave of the future!)… sidewalk saviors squawking about the end of the world and repent now… tour bus ticket hawkers….sandwich board salesmen selling tickets to the newest comedy club… there’s lady liberty in full blue dress signing autographs… people walking 10 dogs at a time, all on tangled leashes… yellow taxis everywhere…tour buses dodging in and out of stops at the speed of light…

Funny thing was, I never ever felt in danger at any time… there were truly cops everywhere… most of them were directing lost citizens… pointing here and there. And it was amazingly clean (well, except for the smells coming up from the grated sewers at some of the cross streets) and safe. And even contrary to what some people have said about New York people in general.. I found the experience to be unbelievably pleasant.
I went as far up Broadway as I could manage… stopped into an Irish Pub named “McGuinnies” (no, not like the beer)… and had a wheelhouse. I stopped into the M&M’s store to look around… wow. That’s a lot of chocolate! I turned back just a block up from the Ed Sullivan Theater (wishing David Letterman would tape his shows on the weekend!) and headed back.

I noticed on one spot a few blocks from my hotel, there was a center section, which looked like bleachers and lines of people waiting to enter. I didn’t know it until later, but these were the “last minute” Broadway Play tickets… If a show does not sell out… they raffle off the tickets to the people in the bleachers…first come, first serve. Up until just recently it was cash only.. but now they do accept credit cards. It is possible (I was told) to get some good seats at a marquee Broadway play for pennies on the dollar…

I’m thinking I was really hungry (I had passed in and out of about 30 restaurants during my evening stroll), so I settled on a little restaurant (recommended to me by the father-like desk clerk at the hotel) called “The Brooklyn Diner”…located just one door down from the hotel. I decided to take his advice. I paid about 35 dollars for a burger, fries and 3 beers. Okay, well the burger WAS excellent.. but 35 bucks?? Oh, well. When in Rome, I told myself!

I headed back to the hotel, full and satisfied. I did stop back to Rick’s Café in the hotel… to listen a little more to the piano player and have some more wine. It was nearly 11 p.m. and the piano player had left, but the wine was still being served…

I sat down next to the bronze elephant (one of two) that graced the room… drank my wine and thought to myself…

“Ah. It Is Good To Be The King!” And that is exactly how I felt!

7th Leg of the journey: New York City!!!

212 Miles
Left Boston: 11:00 am
Arrived NYC: (Lower Manhattan) 4:25pm


I left Boston not really feeling good about stuff. It had been a very long night. And of the entire road in front of me, this part scared me the most. I had been warned about the drivers in New York City. Its do or die there… eat or be eaten… Stand or fall. No place for wimps. Not for the faint of heart.

Part of the problem was timing. Checkout at the Milner Hotel was 11:00 am, and check in at the hotel in New York was not until 4:00 pm. It was only a three-hour trip from Boston to New York.

I decided to take my chances anyway. I figured the earlier I made into the city, the less I would have to worry about Rush Hour on a Friday afternoon in the worlds 6th largest city. I did stop a couple of times for rest and nourishment. The traffic on the highway was not too terrible, although I did have one unfortunate tussle with a lane of “cash only” traffic on the Massachusetts Turnpike. Why? Why? Why? Would they ever put a toll booth on the top of a bridge, where all the pay for cash traffic has to suddenly veer right (under construction) and then a sharp left….to get to the “cash only” (one lane) booth? Again, several fingers and gestures flew my way, as I had to brake into the line waiting to pay the toll.

I thought to myself… this is what the highway to hell must be like!

It wasn’t Hell. It was New York City! And, this time I let the GPS do the talking. Once across the Queensboro bridge (Stands for “Boro of Queens”) I was pretty much a slave to the GPS.

It didn’t help that because the U.N. was in session with all the world’s dignitaries (and Not-so dignitaries: I’m thinking of Kadfi’s rant at the U.N.), many of the roads were blocked off and there was NO detours to anywhere. “Up-dating Route…” was what my GPS kept telling me.

I wound my way around and down the slim island of Manhattan, until I was only three blocks away from Broadway. It’s was actually quite easy, as on the South tip of the island, the blocks are all numbers (North/ South) or easy to remember names (East/ West). The motel parking was right next-door at a place called “Meyer’s Parking” and I found the place easily and I was soon toting my luggage into the Casablana Hotel.

The Casablanca Hotel: Well, the pictures did not do the place justice I’ll say that. At the enterance way there was a well-suited young man that asked me, “Will we be staying at the Casablanca Hotel today?”

Here is the Web site for the Hotel: http://www.casablancahotel.com/

6th Leg of the Journey: Boston, Massachusetts

Left Portland, Maine: 1 p.m. Thursday
Arrive: 6 pm (after lots of turn-arounds!)
128.7 miles
30.00 Gas @ 2.65/ gal
31.7 MPG

I checked out of the Portland by the bay (reluctantly) at noon, and went again to the DogFish for a lunchtime Soup and Salad. Clam Chowder was the order of the day, as I enjoyed my meal while people watching outside the huge bay windows.

I got in my car, and made the trek to Boston in no particular hurry. Perhaps I should have been.

First, I had the wrong printed out directions for the wrong hotel. Over the course of the past year or so, I had changed my mind on several hotels, either because of cost or location. I had finally decided on the older, cheaper and better-located “Milner Hotel” right in the heart of the city.

The printed directions I had were for an earlier choice of hotels just outside the city. I had realized my mistake as I arrived at the wrong hotel. Flustered but not un-done, I decided to use my handy dandy laptop to lookup exactly where the heck I was supposed to be.

My laptop is the one I use for work, which is pretty useless considering the battery no longer holds a charge. Foreseeing such a problem, before I had left on my journey I went to the local Farm and Fleet store and purchased a DC to AC power inverter. This handy do-jiggy plugs into your cigarette lighter, and can power small electrical appliances, such as…um.. … a laptop! Yeah me! I was prepared!

After booting the computer, and getting a wireless source, I found the correct hotel and address, fed that into my handy GPS unit….and back on the road I went. When I arrived at the correct destination, there was NO hotel. Lots of old fashioned store fronts in brick and brownstone, but no grand hotel. I had to re-boot the laptop and again to gain the hotel phone number, which I did.

“78 Charles Street? Yes, that’s where we are located,” Said the pretty voice on the end of the phone. A pause. “OH!! THAT Charles Street! Oh, heavens no, we are on the OTHER Charles street across town! You’re looking for Charles Street South.” I must have rolled my eyes across the wire, or she could hear my irritation when I ask how I could find the other Charles Street across town.

The directions she gave me were useless, as I found out the grand old city of Boston is rife with one-way streets and roundabouts. Ah, we pause our story here to tell the story of the roundabout.

You know, near where I live, they have installed what is called a “roundabout” to supposedly increase safety and decrease traffic congestion. Now, I’ve heard it’s a sound and scientific principle, but frankly…. I don’t believe it for a second. The idea is that traffic goes around to the right, as other connecting roads join in and go to the right until you find the right “exit” out of the whirlpool. This way, traffic never really stops but slows down and everyone gets on to their correct connection, as it were. That’s the theory, anyway.

Now, add eight or ten connections and three lanes of traffic and instead of a roundabout you have what my friends back in high school loving called a “circle jerk”… I entered said roundabout and was not seen again for days. I just kept circling around and around, as there was just no way to break into the traffic mess that was all around me. I think I counted six times around the bend I went. Finally, some guy in a BMW must have felt sorry for the Wisconsin hick that was lost, and let me get ahead of him… and finally out of the tempest I came, back on the road to the lost hotel.

It took all I had to find the location of the hotel; maps, GPS, phone, Laptop and my own sometimes not-so common sense of direction. After circling the general area (and one more time through the roundabout AGAIN!), I parked my car a few blocks from where I believed the hotel should be located. I walked two blocks down and one over, and WHALLA!!! There she be!

The Milner Hotel was wedged between a parking ramp and some small shops in what I would characterize as an alleyway. The outside of the hotel was actually beautiful, with a carved stone front, and flower boxes outside the windows…it had the look of a very old, but grand hotel.

I parked my car in front (only a 10 minute limit and tow-away zone!!), and registered. I stood behind a very nicely dressed business lady who was having an argument with the front desk clerk. She was complaining her room was too small. She said she didn’t even have a place to put her computer. She asked if she could get a bigger room and the desk clerk lady (I’m assuming the one that gave me the bad directions) said there were no bigger rooms than hers. Angry, the woman skulked off.

I just thought she was being overly dramatic. I would find out she was not. My room was on the ground floor…room 104. Remember what I had written earlier about rooms on the ground floor?

Well, of course there was no place to park. Parking was “generously” provided across the street and part of the Park Plaza Hotel parking ramp. Parking was only 25 dollars per night. I’m beginning to see a pattern here… So, after parking the car, I checked into what can only be described as a closet…

After a quick shower and a catnap, I headed out on foot to discover Boston proper. The city itself was booming with people. I did make my way to the Boston Commons area, and there was the world-renowned pub, “Cheers”. The front looked just like the television show. Inside didn’t look anything like it. Actually, the inside was very touristy and expensive. After have one of their “house ales”, I decided I would find a better place to have dinner, as Cheers was a total disappointment. No Norm…No Coach. No Woody. No Dianne. No Dr. Crane.

Inside it looked just like a TGIFridays. Uhg. Spare me!

It was recommended by Natalie, the nice desk clerk to find a restaurant called “The Rock Bottom Brewery” just a couple of blocks off from the hotel. I found it, and had a great burger and fries. I found out they supposedly brewed the “best of Boston beers”, so I asked the waiter what he would recommend. He suggested I tried the “Rocktoberfest Lager”… I must say, it was even better than the “Wheelhouse” I had the night before. The meal and the three pints of local brew were pretty cheap and worth every penny.

I walked around a bit more, and headed back to the hotel. I was nervous about my impending road trip into New York City the next day…and I wanted to make sure I had a good night’s rest.

Didn’t happen.

When I entered my room…er….closet, the air conditioner (which was precariously hung above the window, above the bed) had been on all this time (On and OFF were it's only mode of operation), and the room was very chilly. I shut off the control for the air and made my way into the tiny bed in the corner of the room (which was pretty much every corner)…

I slept a whole hour before people talking loudly outside my window awaked me. With the air conditioner off, I realized I could hear pennies drop outside on the sidewalk. For the next several hours, I suffered another night of unending traffic, party-goers and one small argument between two drunken men fighting for the right to take some lady home.

Right around 3 a.m. I turned the air back on and made do with as many covers as I could manage. I awoke early in the morning to find that I could nearly see my breath in my room…my nose was cold and I had to pull my coat onto the bed to help in the cold. At least I couldn’t hear the street noises anymore….

5th Leg part 2....er...duex..

5th Leg: Part Duex…er…Two.

The Holiday Inn Portland By the Bay was, by far, the most luxurious of the Hotels so far. I was on the 9th floor of this amazing Hotel. The view from the window was breathtaking! I could see the Atlantic Ocean for the first time… as I just stared out of the window for nearly an hour, as darkness fell upon the water.

I had made arrangements months in advance to eat at a supposedly “Authentic Irish” restaurant name RiRa right on the waterfront. It was just a little further than could be walked easily. The nice lady at the front desk directed me to the shuttle and the drivers stationed at the door awaiting; Eric and Eric. I laughed and say, “Perfect! My middle name is Eric!”

Eric dropped me off about 18 blocks along with waterfront, and gave me a number to call him back when it was time to return. Wow.. now that’s some service. I walked into the RiRa Restaurant.

It was a very beautiful place, I will grant you that. I took the “upper loft” seating overlooking the water (of course). I will say it may have advertised itself as such, but for an “Authentic” Irish restaurant, it was pretty Americanized. There was a 50-inch Big Screen television that several of the patrons were watching the Boston Red Sox game.

The bar keep was a pretty agreeable guy. I asked him what a good Irish beer that’s a little softer than a Guiness. He suggested the special (of course), a lighter Irish “Lager” called “Wheelhouse”. I agreed to try it, and indeed….it was perfect. Just enough of that hops taste…but not so weighed down as a full Pulstas. I ordered the Fillet Minong along with a good helping of “Irish Potatoes”. It was a wonderful mean, though I hardly think it could be termed “authentic”. Fifty dollars lighter, I left RiRa full and just a little tipsy.

Irish “Wheelhouse” has about 8 percent Alcohol by volume! Not to mention my “desert” which was a big shot of Jameson Whiskey. Doggone ya, Dena!!! It was YOU that introduced me to the Jameson... Good Irish Whiskey! And only like 10 dollars per shot! Grrr...

I called my faithful driver Kato… er… Eric, and in five minutes he arrived at RiRa to pick me up. He said he had one other pickup to make before we went back to the hotel. He picked up a nice elderly couple who (unless I miss the big clues) were Jewish and together forever.

They were at another restaurant on the waterfront, and were a chatty couple of folks for sure. They asked me where I was from and I said Wisconsin. They started talking about how great the snowmobile races were up Eagle River.

It was nice to chat with them. Seems like most of the people I chatted with were at least in their 60’s. Is this my elderly-bonding moment? Dude!

Eric informed me if I want to go to a cool local pub that was not so commercialized, it would be the “DogFish” just 2 blocks up from the hotel. Tonight they had open mic night and it was always packed.

Still a little tipsy from the pub, I decided I would wander up the street to the DogFish. Wow, what a place! It was packed, and okay… I did indeed sign up for open mic, and was handed an ancient guitar and told to sing into the microphone.

I gave them two songs; “Yesterday” (Which received moderate, and polite applause) and then my own “Midlife Crisis Song”…which I had people singing right along. At the end of the song the house exploded with applause! It was pretty cool that people really responded well to that song, and they requested an encore. I then sang my version of “Margaretaville” which also got raves!

It was great! I felt like I had really whacked it out of the park with the three songs. They gave me more free drinks, and by nearly closing time, I decided I should get back to the motel. I walked the two very LONG blocks back and collapsed, happy, onto the very comfortable bed.

It’s no surprised that I slept in late the next day, as I awoke to a sunny and breezy day. The sun glinting off the bay, and I lazed around the room until nearly noon that day.